The letters of Madame de Sevigne to her daughter and friends

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THE LETTERS

OF

MADAME DE SEVIGNE

* »

TO

HER DAUGHTER AND FRIENDS.

EDITED BY

MRS. HALE,

AUTHORESS OF " WOMAN'S RECORD," " NORTHWOOD," " Y1QIL OF LOVE,

"MANNERS," ETC.

"There is none
In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
A mother's heart." — Mrs. Hemans.

REVI3ED

-V OF THE

EDITIO*-tfTJ*nVERSITY

POE^

BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.

1878.

sit

SSH

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by

ROBERT8 BP^THERS,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

CAMBRIDGE :
FRBBBWORK BY JOHN WILSON AND SON.

PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.

The Editress has set forth so fully, in the introductory sketch of
Madame de Sevign^s Life and Times, her object in offering this
book to the American public, that any further prologue may seem
superfluous ; yet there are one or two things to be said which seem
to find their most proper expression in a Preface. Since the date
of the first edition, the changes in the manners and feelings of the
time have been rapid and continuous ; and they have operated in
a twofold manner.

In the first place, we have become as a nation more thoroughly
acquainted with French literature, and better able to appreciate
that world of the past in which the great letter-writer lived.
Madame de Sevigne* was a woman who lived in and for others, —
for her daughter, her friends, and, at a greater distance, for the
brilliant circle of distinguished men and women of which she her-
self was so important a figure. Her letters are made up of inci-
dent, of meetings, of conversations : they are full of references to
the topics then uppermost ; they draw half their charm from the
personality of the writer. Literature of this sort cannot stand
alone. To enjoy it to the full we must know with some minute-
ness the history of the times in which it was written, and of the
people to whom it was written. The knowledge of these things is
now spreading wider every year, as we become familiar, through
originals or translations, with the masterpieces of foreign lan-
guages. For instance, probably the best French sketch of Madame
de Sevigne is from the pen of M. Sainte-Beuve, the great critic
whom Mr. Arnold acknowledges for his master. This sketch has
been translated by Miss Preston, and published within the last

IV PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.

year.* Our limits forbid quotation ; but to every one who can
enjoy a criticism at once delicate and profound, we recommend
this incomparable study.

Again, the times themselves in which we live call for the exercise
of just such an influence upon the mind and style as might be
wielded by these letters. We in America are almost all educated
up to a certain point ; few of us, unfortunately, are educated be-
yond it. The national character is pushing, energetic, ambitious ;
setting great value upon money and material luxuries, but without
appreciation of the refined enjoyments that consist with a moder-
ate purse, or the delicacy of feeling that marks a sensitive but
well-balanced mind. The vortex of politics or of business draws
into it all our energies ; we have nothing to spare for reflection,
for the observances of friendship, for the amenities of social inter-
course. A life so vulgarizing alike to the mind and to the style,
finds its best antidote in the letters of Madame de Sevigne". Here
is a beautiful existence centred in home and friends ; here are
thoughts occupied by love for the dear ones around, and by sym-
pathy with their joys and sorrows. The tumult of the outer world
is heard faintly. The writer's mind is busied in a calmer sphere,
and the exquisite tenderness of her heart gives that transparent
grace to her style that has been the wonder and the despair of two
centuries.

We are a letter-writing people ; and no better models for let-
ters exist than Madame de Se'vigne^s. We are a practical and
energetic people ; and no better complement to such virtues can
be found than the tender affection and delicate refinement of
Madame de SeVigne.

Philadklphia, Nov. 26, 1868.

* Sainte-Beuve's Portraits of Celebrated Women.

MADAME DE SEVIGNE AND HER TIMES.

An honorable celebrity has been universally accorded to
Madame de Sevigne. For nearly two centuries her "Letters"
have been the admiration of all lovers of elegant literature. The
natural grace, the " curiosa felicitas" of these epistles have ren-
dered them remarkable as to style, and the artist-like pictures
of manners, the lively accounts of cotemporaneous incidents give
them very great value as aids to the study of history. Theu
they are trustworthy documents; every word, every circum-
stance is read with particular satisfaction, because the character
and position of the writer assure us of her perfect intent to com-
municate truth.

Madame de Sevigne lived in what the French consider their
Augustan Age. Great men in arts, in arms, in literature gave
glory to the most splendid monarch that ever sat on the throne
of France. At the same time the position of women was both
active and brilliant. The social existence of the women of the
higher classes was one that gave scope to talent and opportunity
to energy. In those days the great dame was occupied with the
administration of her property and the exaltation of her family.
Far from being absorbed in a narrow routine of personality, she
considered the sacrifice of private feelings to family greatness a
positive duty, and the sacrifice of family greatness to the king — -
that is, the state — a still more imperative obligation.

As our views of moral responsibility extend, the intellectual
horizon enlarges. The woman who was accustomed to dwell
upon considerations beyond mere fireside comforts or fashionable
display, who went from the individual to the family, and from
the family to the state, must of necessity have enlarged her un-
derstanding in proportion to the elevation and extent of her

6 MADAME DE S £ V I G N 6

views. It is only by a just development of the intellectual facul-
ties that the heart can be properly regulated, and nowhere is
this truth more strikingly illustrated than in the life of Madame
de Sevigne.

Her passionate love for her daughter was always made to yield
to the dictates of a wise prudence and just propriety. Though
born with excessive sensibility, great vivacity, amiable instincts,
and warm imagination, that is to say, with the qualities and feel-
ings most likely to lead their possessor astray or into indiscre-
tions, yet this youthful widow managed her estate and her
children with admirable wisdom, and so regulated her own con-
duct as to be above the slightest censure in a court of relaxed
morals and of many temptations. This was accomplished because
her brilliant qualities rested on the solid basis of serious and
valuable acquirements, a practical knowledge of business, and a
trusting and sincere piety.

To make the example of this excellent woman more widely
and familiarly known in America is the main object of this vol-
ume. As a model in private life, her conduct and character
deserve to be studied. Her u Letters" are referred to by the best
authorities, as the most charming specimens of epistolary art
extant, yet no edition has ever been issued in this country. Nor
would one be profitable, because the complete work is too large
Still it is desirable to have access to this treasury of beautiful
sentiments and entertaining sketches ; and we have here selected
such portions of her correspondence as will make her virtues
known and give those lessons of practical goodness her life so
happily illustrated.

In order to do this we have arranged the correspondence on a
new plan. Hitherto the "Letters" have been thrown together
according to date, and the reader was compelled to change from
one correspondent to another, even on the same page, often find-
ing similar details in several consecutive epistles. In this volume
each person addressed has his or her own department — thus the
Letters to Madame de Grignan, the soul of the correspondence,
form one unbroken series. Much care has been taken to keep
the fine and often sparkling threads of narrative inwoven in the
Letters continuous, and errors in the only English translation
we have seen (published in London, in 1811) have been cor-
rected by comparing it with the best French editions of the

AND HER TIMES. 7

"Letters."* And now we will endeavor to sketch the life of
this lovely and lovable woman, though the events are in no
wise remarkable, and the truest portrait of her character and
genius must be sought in her letters.

MARIE DE RABUTIN-CHANTAL

was born February 5th, 1627, in the ancestral chateau of Bour-
billy, between Samur and Epoisses. Her father was Celse-Be-
nigne de Rabutin, Baron of Ohantal ; her mother, Marie de Cou-
langes, was daughter of a Secretary of State, and belonged to a
family celebrated for wit, and, generally, remarkable for integ-
rity. The baron was slain during the siege of Rochelle, fighting
against the English in their descent on the island of Rhe; and it
was thought he was killed by the hand of Cromwell. The little
Marie was then but eighteen months old, and soon afterward
was, by the death of her mother, left an orphan indeed. The
Baroness de Ohantal, her grandmother, seemed the person nat-
urally destined to have the guardianship of the child, but that
lady was occupied in religious duties (she was afterward a can-
onized saint, and known as the u Blessed Mother of Ohantal,"
and seems to have deserved the distinction, according to the
feeling of those days, as she founded eighty-seven religious
houses), and, therefore, permitted her granddaughter to pass
into the hands of her mother's relations. She was first taken by
her grandfather, M. de Coulanges ; when he died, shortly after-
ward, the orphan, then about nine years of age, passed into the
family of her uncle, Christophe de Coulanges, Abbe de Livry.
This was a fortunate event for the young girl. She was brought
up and educated with her cousin, Philippe Emanuel de Cou-
langes, enjoying the advantages of the most intellectual society
of the age; her learned uncle was her companion, and encour-
aged her to cultivate her talents. This last advantage can hardly
be estimated now, when feminine education is common and popu-
lar; but then the instruction of young ladies was usually limited
to the accomplishments of reading, writing, dancing, and em-
broidery. Marie de Rabutin had the entree to her uncle's

* The explanatory notes, which afford useful particulars concerning
personages and events mentioned in the Letters, are partly from the
French, and partly by the English translator and the present Editor.

8 MADAME DE SEVIGNE

library and his encouragement, if not personal instruction, in her
literary pursuits. She was taught Latin, Italian, and Spanish ;
her instructors were Menage and Ohapelain, and other professors
of polite literature. The result is before the world — that the
woman's mind is as susceptible of cultivation as that of the
man's, and that she is made happier, better, more lovely, and
more capable of doing good by a liberal and careful cultivation
of her intellectual powers.

In person and manners Mademoiselle de Rabutin is represented
as very attractive, if not positively beautiful. M. Ph. A Grou-
ville, her French biographer, thus describes her:

" An exact portrait of her person would savor of romance,
and would be out of place; we may, however, represent the
young Rabutin to our imagination as a truly handsome woman^
with more character of countenance than beauty ; with features
more expressive than commanding; an easy figure, a stature
rather tall than short, a redundancy of fine light hair, excellent
health, a fine color, a brilliant complexion, eyes, the vivacity of
which gave additional animation to her language and agility to
her movements, a pleasing voice, as much knowledge of music
as existed in those days, and of dancing, in which she excelled
for the times. This is the idea that her portraits, her friends, or
herself give of her. And certainly her nose, tending a little
toward the square, which she herself ridicules, could not spoil
her whole appearance as much as the age of eighteen embellished
it, when, in 1644, she married Henry, Marquis de Sevigne, of an
ancient family of Brittany. To this appendage of merit and
charms she added a dower of a hundred thousand crowns, which,
at that period, were not of less value than seven hundred thou-
sand francs."

The Marquis de Sevigne was also rich, moreover he was young,
handsome, and gay. Her good uncle doubtless believed he had
secured the happiness of his niece by this connection; but the
sequel proved otherwise. The marquis soon showed himself to
be weak, vain, extravagant, and, finally, a profligate. Though
he always admitted the charms and merits of his wife, yet, after
a year or two, he began to neglect her for unworthy associates.
The siren of that age, Ninon de l'Enclos, drew him to her side,
and for that wanton the happiness of his hone was sacrificed.

Bussy de Rabutin, cousin of Madame de Sevigne's father, an

AND HER TIMES 9

unprincipled man, but distinguished for wit and talent, had
always admired and loved, or pretended to be in love with his
fascinating cousin, and she had always laughed at his flattery
and rejected his suit. He took advantage of her husband's infi-
delity to offer an insulting proposal, that she should take her re-
venge. He was reproved in such terms of cold and calm
severity as put a final repulse to his gallantry toward her.
Though their intercourse continued friendly through life, yet,
judging from the tone of her letters to him, always constrained,
and confined chiefly- to his own affairs, we feel that, though she
acknowledged their relationship, she never esteemed the man.

Her husband was killed in a duel, about seven years after mar-
riage, and Madame de Sevigne, at the age of twenty -five, was
left a widow, with two children, the eldest, her son, the young-
est, that idolized daughter, who made the light of her mother's
life.

In spite of the faults and vices of the Marquis de Sevigne, his
sudden and shocking death greatly afflicted his wife. She was,
for a time, nearly overwhelmed with sorrow, but soon found de-
volving upon her the hard and painful duty of endeavoring to
extricate her estate from utter ruin. The follies and waste of
her husband came near making her and the children penniless.
She retired to the country, and, aided by the counsel and en-
couragement of her uncle the abbe, entered on her new duties.
"We quote from one of her French biographers, who seems to
have searched out her history with great care :

" Madame de Sevigne's good sense, natural rectitude, and laud-
able pride, gave her a taste for economy, and the advice of her
uncle taught her to understand it. Her mind, notwithstanding
\he habit of sacrificing to the Graces, had no repugnance to
business. She well knew how to sell or let estates, receive her
rents, direct her workmen, etc. She did not trust to her beauty
alone for gaining law-suits. Menage relates, that one day, rec-
ommending an affair with great ease and simplicity to the
President de Bellievre, she felt herself at last a little embarrassed
with the terms to be used, when she said, ' At least, sir, I know
the air perfectly, but I forget the words.'

u With regard to education, not only do the merit of her son
and daughter, as well as their virtues, show the extent of her
capacity in this respect, but it would be easy to extract from her

10 MADAME DE S E V I G N £

letters a series of maxims upon the subject, by which it would
be seen that, far from adhering to the false methods in vogue in
her days, she had foretold many of the improvements of which
we are justly vain in ours.,,

Though she devoted herself seduously to the duties of her
family, yet Madame de Sevigne did not long live a recluse. She
saved her property, returned to society, and passed much of her
time in Paris, where she was the idol of her circle, people of the
first rank in letters and worth of character, as well as stars in
the fashionable world. She was also a frequent visitor at court,
where the king, Louis XIY, always received her with respect.

Madame de Sevigne had many adorers, among whom were the
Seigneur Turenne and the Prince de Oonti, and her friends were
most devoted — Fouquet was one of them, and she was true to
him in his great misfortune, as her letters show. But she ap-
pears never to have had the least intention of a second marriage;
to promote the happiness of her children and the enjoyment of
her friends, was the object of her life. Her son, the Marquis
de Sevigne, who entered the army, was very frivolous, weak,
and dissipated in his youth; his mother's watchful care and pa-
tient forbearance saved him from utter degradation. About
middle age he married an amiable wife of noble family, left the
army, and cultivated a taste for literature. To effect this mar-
riage, and thus secure the reformation of her son, Madame de
Sevigne gave up to him so large a portion of her estate that
she was afterward in comparatively straitened circumstances.

But the daughter, Margaret Frances, was her mother's glory,
the idol that seemed to claim the worship of the mother's soul.
Passion rather than affection possessed Madame de Sevigne when
writing to or of her " infinitely dear child." That the daughter
did not reciprocate this love in its full flow has been urged to
prove that Mudame de Grignan was cold in temperament or self-
ish in feeling. We do not find evidences to support this charge.
The mother, ambitious for her daughter, and wishing to keep
her in Paris had married her to the Count de Grignan, who was
• rich, and of the high nobility, and had a place at court. But he
was also Lieutenant-Governor of Provence, and ordered, soon
after his marriage, to his government. His wife had to follow
him ; she seems to have loved and respected her husband, as wras
her duty She had children ; she was at the head of a great es-

AND HER TIMES. 11

tablishment, and she could not give the whole of her heart,
thoughts, and time to her mother, as the latter did to hei
daughter.

The separation was a terrible privation to Madame de Sevigne,
but it was the cause of her moral and literary improvement, as
well as of the series of "Letters to Madame de Grignan," which,
of their kind, are unequaled in any language. The mother's
genius lives in this correspondence ; her pen gives importance to
the most trifling occurrences, and makes hard facts as interesting
as fairy stories.

Among other advantages of life, Madame de Sevigne retained
her good looks, as she did her cheerful disposition, to the last;
hence the name of Mere Beaute (Mother Beauty) given her by M.
de Coulanges. Her constitution was good, and she managed it with
great judgment. In thirty years the only disorder she had known
was rheumatism. Happy all her life by the exercise of natural
affections, Madame de Sevigne thought less of the ravages of
time ; and when death terminated her existence in 1696, her ill-
ness, the result of the fatigue and uneasiness she had endured for
some months on her daughter's account, took her by surprise,
and was announced by no symptom. It was short. In her last
moments she was resigned, and perfectly calm. Thus died Mad-
ame de Sevigne, aged about seventy years, and was interred
in the Collegiate Church of Grignan, leaving to posterity in the
record of her blameless life, as in her exquisite writings, the
brightest and purest model which her age affords.

S. J. H.

LETTERS OF MAMME DE SfiVIGNti,

FROM 1655 TO 1669.

ADDRESSED TO THE COUNT DE BUSSY.*

» t ♦ « .

LETTER L

In the Country, June 26, 1655.

I had no doubt that you would take some opportunity of
bidding me adieu, either at my own house or from the camp
at Landrecy. As I am not a woman of ceremony, I am con-
tent with the latter ; and have not even thought of being
angry, that you failed in coming to me before you set out.

I have not stirred from this desert, since your departure ;
and, to speak frankly, I am not much afflicted to find that you
are with the army. I should be an unworthy cousin of so

* The Count Bussy de Rabutin, first cousin to the father of Madame
de Sevigne, was, on account of his relationship, always on terms of
intimacy with her. He was a famous wit and satirist, as his Letters
and Memoirs show, but not of principles or character to excite love or
esteem in the soul of such a woman as Madame de Sevigne. How-
ever, they were cousins, and though she refused his suit, she seems to
have felt a deep interest in his welfare. She corresponded with him
occasionally till her death, but her letters to him have less interest
than those she wrote to others, especially to her daughter. We give a
few of her first and best letters to Count de Bussy, as preliminary to
the real work of her heart and mind, her correspondence with Madame
de Grignan,

20 LETTERS TO

brave a cousin, if I were sorry to see you, during the present
campaign, at the head of the finest regiment in France, and in
so glorious a post as the one you hold. I dare say you would
disown any sentiments less worthy than these ; I leave weaker
and more tender feelings to the true bagnio gentry. Every
one loves in his own way. I profess to be heroic as well as
you, and am proud to boast of these sentiments. Some
women, perhaps, would think this a little in the old Roman
style, and would thank God they were not JRomans* that they
might still preserve some feelings of humanity. But on this
subject I can assure them I am not so inhuman as they sup-
pose ; and, with all my heroism, I wish your safe return as
passionately as they can do. I trust, my dear cousin, you
will not doubt the truth of this, nor that I fervently pray your
life may be spared. This is the adieu you would have re-
ceived from me in person, and which I now beg you to ac-
cept from hence, as I have accepted yours from Landrecy.

LETTER n.

Paris, July 14, 1655.
Will you always disgrace your relations ? Will you never
be weary of making yourself the subject of conversation in
every campaign ? Do you imagine it can give us pleasure to
hear that M. de Turenne has sent word to court that you
have done nothing worthy of notice at Landrecy ?f This is
really very mortifying to us, and you may easily comprehend
how deeply I feel the affronts you bring upon your family.
But I know not why I thus amuse myself, for I have no
leisure to carry on the jest. I must tell you, therefore, that I
am delighted with the success which has attended your ex-
ploits. I wrote you a long letter from the country, which J

* Yerse from Corneille's tragedy of the Horatii.
f Mere jesting. Bussy had merited and obtained the praises of
Turenne.

THE COUNT DE BUSSY. . 21

fear you have not received. I should be sorry it were lost, for
you would laugh heartily at its contents.

I was yesterday at Madame de Montglas's ; she had just re-
ceived a letter from you, as also had Madame de . I

expected one likewise, but was disappointed. I suppose you
were unwilling to effect too many wonders at once. I am
not sorry, however, and shall some day claim a whole cargo
for myself. Adieu, my cousin. The gazette speaks of you
but slightly, which has given offense to many, and to me
especially, for no one can be so much interested in your af-
fairs as myself.

LETTER m.

Paris, July 19, 1655.
This is the third time I have written to you since you left
Paris, a sufficient proof that I have nothing upon my mind
against you. I received your farewell letter from Landrecy
while I was in the country, and answered it immediately. I
see plainly that my letter has never reached you, and I am
extremely vexed at it ; for, besides its being written with be-
coming affection, it was in my opinion a very pretty compo-
sition ; and as it was designed for you only, I am wroth that
another should have the pleasure of reading it. I have since
written to you by the servant you dispatched hither with let-
ters to some of your favorites. I did not amuse myself by
quarreling with you for not remembering me at the same
time, but wrote you a line or two at full speed, which, how-
ever incoherent, would inform you of the pleasure I received
from the success of your regiment at Landrecy. This intelli-
gence came to us in the most acceptable manner possible, by
some of the court, who assured us that Cardinal Mazarin had
spoken very handsomely of you to the king, who afterward
joined with the whole court in extolling your conduct. You
may conceive that my joy was not inconsiderable at hearing

22 LETTERS TO

all this ; but to return to my story. This was the subject of
my second letter, and five or six days after I received one
from you, full of complaints against me. You see, however,
my poor cousin, with how little justice you complain ; and
hence I draw this fine moral reflection, that we should never
condemn a person unheard. This is my justification. An-
other, perhaps, would have expressed the same thing in fewer
words. You must bear with my imperfections, in considera-
tion of my friendship. Every one has his peculiar style ;
mine, as you see, is by no means laconic.

LETTER IV.

Paris, November 25, 1655.

You affect great things, M. le Comte : under the pretense
that you write like a second Cicero, you think yourself en-
titled to ridicule people. The passage you remarked, in real-
ity, made me laugh heartily ; but I am astonished that you
found no other equally ludicrous ; for, in the way I wrote to
you, it is a miracle that you comprehended my meaning ;
and I see plainly that either you have a greater share of wit,
or that my letter is better, than I imagined. I am glad, how-
ever, you have profited by my advice.

I am told that you have asked leave to stay at the frontiers.
As you know, my poor count, that mine is a blunt and hon-
est sort of love, I am desirous your request may be granted.
This is the road, it is said, to preferment, and you know how
interested I am in your welfare ; but I shall be pleased either
way. If you remain, true friendship shall find its account ;
if you return, affectionate friendship shall be satisfied.

Madame de Roquelaure is returned so handsome that she
yesterday completely challenged the Louvre ; this kindled
such jealousy in the beauties that were present, that they
have resolved, out of spite, she shall not be a party at any of
the after-suppers, and you know how gay and pleasant they

THE COUNT DE BUSSY. 23

are. Madame de Fiemies would have retained her there yes-
terday, but it was understood by the queen's answer that her
presence would be dispensed with.

Adieu, my dear cousin ; believe me to be the most faithful
friend you have in the world.

LETTER V.

Paris, May 20, 1667.
I received a letter from you, my dear cousin, when I was
in Brittany, in which you talked of our ancestors, the Rabu-
tins, and of the beauty of Bourbilly. But as I had heard from
Paris that you were expected there, and as I had hoped my-
self to arrive much sooner, I deferred writing to you ; and
now I find you are not coming at all. You know that noth-
ing is now talked of but war. The whole court is at camp,
and the whole camp is at court ; and every place being a
desert, I prefer the desert of Livri forest, where I shall pass
the summer,

En attendant que nos guerriers
Reviennent couverts de lauriers.*

There are two lines for you, but I do not know whether I
have heard them before, or have just made them. As it is a
matter of no great importance, I shall resume the thread of
my prose. My heart has been very favorably inclined toward
you, since I have seen so many people eager to begin, or
rather to revive, a business in which you acquired so much
honor during the time you were able to engage in it. It is
a sad thing for a man of courage to be confined at home
when there are such great doings in Flanders.f As you feel,
no doubt, all that a man of spirit and valor can feel, it is im-
prudent in me to revive so painful a subject. I hope you

* Waiting the jeturn of our warriors covered with laurels.
f Busay was exiled to his estates.

\

24 LETTERS TO

will forgive me, in consideration of the great interest I .ake
in your affairs.

It is said you have written to the king. Send me a copy
of your letter, and give me a little information respecting
your mode of life, what sort of things amuse you, and whether
the alterations you are making in your house do not contrib-
ute a good deal toward it. I have spent the winter in Brit-
tany, where I have planted a great number of trees, and a
labyrinth, that will require Ariadne's clew to find the way out
of it. I have also purchased some land, to which I have said,
as usual, " I shall convert you into a park." I have ex-
tended my walks at a trifling expense. My daughter sends
you a thousand remembrances. I beg mine to all your
family.

LETTER VI.

Paris, June 3, 1668.

I wrote to you the last ; why have you not answered my
letter ? I have been expecting to hear from you, and have
at length found the Italian proverb true : chi offende non per-
dona — the offender never pardons.

Madame d'Assigny has informed me that part of a cornice
has fallen upon your head, and hurt you considerably. If
you were well, and I dared exercise a little wicked wit upon
the occasion, I should tell you that they are not trifling orna-
ments like these that injure the heads of husbands in general ;
and that it would be a fortunate circumstance for them if they
met with no worse evil than the fall of a cornice. But I will
not talk nonsense ; I will first know how you are, and assure
you that the same reason which made me languid when you
were bled, gives me the headache from your accident. The
ties of relationship can not, I think, be carried further than
this.

My daughter was on the point of marriage. The affair is
broken off, I hardly know why. She kisses your hand ; I do

THE COUNT DE BUSST. 25

the same to your whole family. Have you done any thing
yet with regard to the court ? Pray let me know how you
stand there.

LETTER VII.

Paris, July 26, 1668.

I begin by thanking you, my dear cousin, for your letters
to the king. They would afford me pleasure even .if they
were written by a stranger. They have awakened in me sen-
timents of pity, and I should think they must produce the
same effect on our sovereign. It is true, he does not bear
the name of Rabutin, as I do.

The prettiest girl in France sends her compliments to you.
This title is due to her ; I am, however, weary of doing the
honors of it. She is more worthy than ever of your esteem
and friendship.

You do not know, I believe, that my son is gone to Candia
with M. de Roannes, and the Count de Saint Paul. He con-
sulted M. de Turenne, Cardinal du Retz, and M. de Rochefou-
cauld upon this : most important personages ! and they all
approved it so highly that it was fixed upon, and rumored
abroad, before I knew any thing of the matter. In short, he
is gone. I have wept bitterly, for it is a source of great
grief to me. I shall not have a moment's rest during his
voyage. I see all its dangers, and terrify myself to death ;
but alas, I am wholly out of the question ; for, in things of
this nature, mothers have no voice. Adieu.

LETTER VIH.

Paris, September 4, 1668.
Rise, count ; I will not kill you while prostrate at my feet,
and take your sword to resume the combat. But it is better
that I should give you life, and that we should live in peace.*

* Bussj and his cousin had frequent quarrels : the reason has before

2

26 LETTERS TO

I exact but one condition : that you own the thing as it has
happened. This is a very generous proceeding on my part ;
you can no longer call me a little brute.

M. de Montausier has just been appointed governor to the
Dauphin.

Je t'ai comble de biens, je t'en veux accabler.*

Adieu, count. Now I have conquered you, I shall every
where proclaim that you are the bravest man in France ; and
whenever extraordinary duels are mentioned, I shall relate
ours. My daughter sends her compliments. The idea you
express of her good fortune in the late affair is some consola-
tion to us.

LETTER IX.

Paris, December 4, 1668.

Have you not received the letter, sir, in which I gave you
life, disdaining to kill you at my feet ? I expected an answer
to this noble action ; but you have thought it unworthy your
notice: you have contented yourself with rising from the
ground, and taking your sword as I commanded you. I hope
you will never again employ it against me.

I must tell you a piece of news that will, I am sure, give
you pleasure. It is, that the prettiest girl in France is going
to be married, not to the handsomest youth, but to one of the
worthiest men in the kingdom — to M. de Grignan, whom you
have long known. All his wives died to give place to your
cousin ; and, through extraordinary kindness, even his father
and mother died too ; so that knowing him to be richer than
ever, and finding him besides, by birth, situation, and good
qualities, every thing we could wish, we have not trafficked
with him, as is customary, on the occasion, but confided in
the two families that have gone before us. He seems very
well pleased with the alliance, and, as soon as we have heard

been given. The new difference to which she alludes seems Lo have
been a slight one.

* I have loaded thee with favors, I will add to the burden.

THE COUNT DK BU88Y. 27

from his uncle, the Archbishop of Aries, his other uncle, the
Archbishop of Usez, being on the spot, the business will be
finished — probably before the end of the year. As I am a
lover of decorum, I could not fail asking your advice and ap-
probation. The public seem pleased. This is a great deal,
for we are such fools as to be almost always governed by its
opinion.

LETTER X.

Paris, January 7, 1669.

It is as true that I did not receive an answer to the letter
in which I gave you life, as that I was in pain, lest, with the
best intention possible to pardon you, I had unintentionally
killed you, being little accustomed to wield a sword. This
was the only good reason I could assign to myself for your
silence. In the mean time you had written, though your let-
ter had never reached me. Allow me still to regret the cir-
cumstance. You always write pleasantly ; and if I had wished
to lose any portion of your correspondence, it would not have
been that letter. I am glad you approve of the marriage wTith
M. de Grignan ; he is a very good man, and very gentlemanly —
has wealth, rank, holds a high office, and is much esteemed
and respected by the world. What more is necessary ? I
think we are fortunate, and as you are of the same opinion,
sign the deed I sent you ; and be assured, my dear cousin, that
if it depended on me, you should be first at the entertainment.
How admirably well you would act your part! Since you
left us, I have heard no wit equal to yours, and I have said to
myself a thousand times, " Good heavens, what a difference Hf
War* is talked of, and it is said the king will take the field in
person.

* It was a vague report No idea was yet entertained of breaking
the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, concluded only seven months before.
But it was in contemplation to interfere in the quarrel between the
Count Palatin and the Duke of Lorraine, and force the latter to lay
down his arms.

LETTERS TO MADAME DE GMGNAN

FROM 1671 TO 1690.

LETTER I.

Paris, Monday, February 9, 1671.
I receive your letters in the same way in which you re-
ceived my ring. I am in tears while I read them. My heart
seems ready to burst. Bystanders would think that you had
treated me ill in your letters, or were sick, or that some ac-
cident had happened to you ; whereas every thing is the re-
verse. You love me, my dear child ; you love me, and you
tell me so in a manner that makes my tears flow in torrents.
You continue your journey without any disagreeable accident.f

* Margaret de Sevigne, only daughter of Madame de Sevigne, was
born in 1649, a short time before her father was killed. The educa-
tion and happiness of this " lovely and infinitely dear child," was the
occupation, delight, and anxiety of the mother's long life. For her,
Madame de Sevigne thought, read, observed, and wrote. The follow-
ing letters are not only charming as specimens of epistolary style, but
also full of interest and instruction to those who would study the hu-
man mind in its most sacred development of maternal love.

f In January, 1670, this idolized daughter of Madame de Sevigne was
married to the Count de Grignan, who was Lieutenant-Qeneral of the
Government of Provence, where he found it necessary to reside. The
separation of mother and daughter, which took place early the follow-
ing year, was the occasion for the world-renowned correspondence,
which has immortalized the genius of one, and the names of both.

LETTERS TO MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 29

To know this, is the thing I could the most desire ; and yet
am I in this deplorable condition ! And do you then take a
pleasure in thinking of me ? in talking of me ? and have more
satisfaction in writing your sentiments to me than in telling
them ? In whatever way they come, they meet with a recep-
tion, the warmth of which can only be known to those who
love as I do. In expressing yourself thus, you make me feel
the greatest tenderness for you that is possible to be felt ; and
if you think of me, be assured that I, on my side, am contin-
ually thinking of you. Mine is what the devotees call an
habitual thought ; it is what we ought to have for the Divine
Being, were we to do our duty. Nothing is capable of divert-
ing me from it. I see your carriage continually driving on,
never, never to come nearer to me ; I fancy myself on the
road, and am always in apprehensions of the carriage over-
turning. I am almost distracted at the violent rains we have
had the last three days, and am frightened to death at the
thoughts of the Rhone. I have at this instant a map before
me ; I know every place you sleep at. To-night you are at
Nevers, Sunday you will be at Lyons, where you will receive
this letter. I could only write to you at Moulins by Madame
de Gueneguad. I have had but two letters from you ; per-
haps a third is on the road ; they are my only comfort. I
ask for no other. I am utterly incapable of seeing much
company at a time ; I may recover the feeling hereafter, but
it is out of the question now. The Duchesses of Verneciel
and Arpajon have used all their endeavors to divert me, for
which I am much obliged to them. Never, surely, were there
better people than in this country. I was all the day on Sat-
urday at Madame de Villars,* talking of you, and weeping ;
she takes a great share in my sorrow. Yesterday I heard
Monsieur d'Agenf preach, and was at Madame de Puisieux
and Madame du Pui-du-Fou's, who both send you a thousand

* Marie de Bellefond, Marchioness of Yillars, mother to the late
marshal of that name.

f Claude Joli, a celebrated preacher, afterward Bishop of Agen.

30 LETTERS TO

remembrances. This evening I shall sup tete-cirt$te* in the
Fauxbourgs. These are my carnivals. I have a mass said
for you every day. This is no superstitious devotion. I have
seen Adhemar f but for a moment ; I am going to write to
him and thank him for his bed, for which I am more obliged
to him even than you are. If you would give me real pleas
ure, take care of your health, sleep in that little snug bed, eat
broth, and exert that courage which I want. Continue to
write to me. The friendships you left behind you here are
all increased, and I should never have done with compliments
If I were to tell you how much every one is concerned about
your health.

LETTER H.

Paris, Wednesday, February 11, 1671.
I have received but three of those delightful letters that so
affect my heart. One is still on the road. If I were not so
fond of them, and loth to lose any thing that you write me, I
should not think I had lost much ; for nothing can be wished
for beyond what I find in those I have already received. In
the first place, they are well written, and are besides so tender,
so natural, that it is impossible not to believe every thing

* With Madame de la Fayette.

f Joseph Adhemar de Monteil, brother to M. de Grignan, known at
first by the name of Adhemar, was, after the death of Charles Philip
d' Adhemar, his brother, which happened the 6th of February, 1612,
called the Chevalier de Grignan ; but being afterward married to N***
d'Oraison, he resumed the name of Count Adhemar. In 1675 he was
colonel to a regiment of horse, at the head of which he signalized him-
self on several occasions, particularly at the battle of Altemheim. He
was made field-marshal in 1688, and, had not repeated attacks of the
gout prevented him from continuing in the service, he would, doubt-
less, from his reputation, merit, and illustrious birth, have obtained
the most considerable military honors. He died without issue the 19th
of November, 1713, at the age of sixty-nine.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 31

contained in them. Distrust itself would here stand con-
vinced. They wear that air of truth which, as I have always
maintained, carries authority with it ; while falsehood and lies
skulk under a load of words, without having the power of
persuasion ; the more they attempt to show themselves, the
more they are entangled. Your expressions are sincere, and
they appear so ; they are used only to explain your meaning,
and receive an irresistible force from their noble simplicity.
Such, my dear child, do your letters appear to me. As for
me, I appear to myself quite divested of every thing that
made me agreeable ; I am ashamed to appear in society ; and
notwithstanding the endeavors that have been used to bring
me back to it, I have latterly been like one just come out of
the woods ; nor could I be otherwise. Few are worthy of un-
derstanding what I feel ; I have sought those chosen few, and
avoided all others. I fancy you are at Moulins to-day ; if so,
you will receive one of my letters. I did not write to you at
Briafre ; if I had, it must have been on that cruel Wednes-
day, the very day you set off ; and I was so overwhelmed
with grief that I was incapable even of tasting the consola-
tion of writing to you. This is the third letter ; my second
is at Lyons. Be sure you let me know if you receive them.
When at a distance, we no longer laugh at a letter beginning
with, " I received yours," etc. The thought of your going
still further and further from me, and of seeing the carriage
continually driving on, is what harrows me most. You are
always going on, and at last, as you say, you will find your-
self at two hundred leagues' distance from me ; resolved,
therefore, not to suffer such injustice without repaying it in
my turn, I shall set myself about removing further off, too,
and shall do it so effectually as to make it three hundred. A
very pretty distance you will say. And would it not be a
step highly worthy the love I have for you, to undertake to
traverse all France to find you out ? I am delighted at the
reconciliation between you and the coadjutor ; you know how
necessaiy I always thought it to the happiness of your life.

32 LETTERS TO

Preserve this treasure with care. You own yourself charmed
with his goodness : let him see you are not ungrateful. I
shall soon finish my letter ; perhaps when you get to Lyons
you will be so giddy with the honors you will receive there,
that you will not find time to read it ; find enough, however,
I beseech you, to let me hear of you, and whether you em-
bark upon that horrible Rhone.

"Wednesday night.

I have this moment received yours from Nogent ; it was
given me by a very honest fellow, whom I questioned as much
as I could ; but your letter is worth more than any thing that
could have been told me. It was but justice, my dear, that
you should be the first to make me smile, after having caused
me so many tears. What you tell me of Monsieur Busche is
quite original ; it is what may be called a genuine stroke of
eloquence. I did laugh then, I own, and I should have been
ashamed of it had I done any thing else than cry for this
week past. I met this Monsieur Busche in the street, when
he was bringing your horses for you to set out ; I stopped
him, and all in tears asked him his name, which he told me.
" Monsieur Busche," said I, sobbing all the while, " I recom-
mend my daughter to your care ; do not, dear Monsieur
Busche, do not overturn her ; and when you have taken her
safely to Lyons, if you will call upon me with the agreeable
news, I will give you something to drink." I shall, therefore,
certainly do so. What you say of him has greatly added to
the respect I had for him before.

LETTER IE.

Paris, Thursday, February 12, 1671.
This is only a line precursory, for I shall not write to you
till to-morrow; but I wish you to know what I have just
taard.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 33

Yesterday the president, Amelot, after having made a great
number of visits, toward night found himself a good deal out
of order, and was soon afterward seized with a violent apo-
plectic fit, of which he died about eight o'clock this morning*
I would have you write to his wife ; the whole family aie in
the greatest affliction.

Xhe Duchess de la Valliere sent a letter to the king, the
contents of which have not transpired, and then a message by
the Marshal de Bellefond, to say, " that she would have quit-
ted the court, after having lost the honor of his good opinion,
had she been able to prevail with herself to see him no more s
but that her weakness on that head had been so great that
she was scarcely capable, even now, of making a sacrifice of it
to her God; she was resolved, however, that the remains of
the passion she had felt for him should constitute part of hex
penance, and, as she had devoted her youth to him, it could
not be thought much if the rest of her life were spent in cares
for her own salvation." The king wept bitterly, and sent Mon-
sieur Colbert to Ch ail lot, to beg her to come directly to Ver-
sailles, that he might speak to her once more. Monsieur Col-
bert accordingly conducted her thither. The king had a whole
hour's conversation with her, and wrept a great deal. Madame
de Montespan ran with open arms, and tears in her eyes, to
receive her. We do not rightly understand all this. Some
say she will remain at Versailles, and continue about the
rourt ; others that she will return to Chaillot. We shall see.

LETTER IV.

Paris, Tuesday, March 3, 1671.
If you were here, my dear child, you would certainly laugh
at me. I am set down to write beforehand, but from a very
different reason to that which I once gave you for writing to
a person two days before I could send my letter : it was a
matter of indifference to me, when I wrote, as I knew I should

2*

34 LETTERS TO

have no more to say to him at the two days' end than I had
then. But here the case is otherwise. I do it now from the
regard I have for you, and to satisfy the pleasure I take in
writing to you every moment, which is the sole comfort I
have now left. To-day I am shut up by myself in my room,
through excess of ill-humor. I am weary of every thing. I
took a pleasure in dining here, and still a greater one in
writing to vou out of season. Alas ! you have none of these
leisure moments ! I write quite at my ease, but can hardly
suppose you will be able to read what I write in the same
manner. I do not see how it is possible for you to be a min-
ute by yourself. On one side I behold a husband who adores
you, who is never tired of being with you, and who scarcely
knows the end of his happiness ; on the other side, harangues,
compliments, visits, and honors paid you without end; all
this must be answered. Indeed, you have enough upon your
hands. I could not bear it myself in my little circle. But
what became of your favorite Indolence amid all this noise
and bustle ? It suffers now ; it retires into a corner, just
dead with apprehension of losing its place in your heart for-
ever ; it seeks some vacant moment to put you in remem-
brance, and just drop a word to you by the by. u Alas !" it
says, " and have you then forgotten me ? Remember, I am
your oldest acquaintance ; the friend that has never abandoned
you ; the faithful companion of your happy hours, who made
you amends for the want of every pleasure, and for whose
sake you have sometimes hated them. It was I that prevented
your dying of the vapors while you were in Brittany. Some-
times, indeed, your mother would break in upon our joys,
but then I knew where to have you again. Now I know not
what will become of me. These shows, all this pageantry,
will be my death, unless you take some care of me." Me-
thinks I hear you speak a kind word to it as you go by ; you
give it some hopes of possessing you when at Grignan ; but
you are gone in an instant, and can not find time to say more.
Duty and reason are with you, and allow you not a moment's

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 35

repose ; I, who have always so highly honored these person-
ages, am now quite out with them, and they with me. How
then will they permit you to waste your time in reading such
trifles as these ? I assure you, my dear child, I am continu-
ally thinking of you ; and I experience every day the truth of
what you once told me, that there are certain thoughts which
are not to he dwelt upon, but passed over as lightly as pos-
sible, unless we would be forever in tears. This is my case :
for there is not a place in the house which does not give a
stab to my heart when I see it ; but your room especially
deals a deadly blow from every part of it. I have placed a
screen in the middle of it, that I may at least take something
from the prospect. As for the window from which I saw
you get into D'Hacqueville's coach, and then called you back
again, I shudder every time I think how near I was throwing
myself out of it after you. I was likely enough to have done
it, for at times I am not in my senses. The closet where I
held you last in my arms, without knowing what I did ; the
Capuchins, where I used to go to mass ; the tears that fell so
fast from my eyes that they wetted the ground, as if water
had been thrown on it ; Saint Mary's, Madame de la Fayette,
my return to the house, your room, that night, the next morn-
ing, your first letter, and every one since, and still every day,
and every conversation of those who feel with me, are so
many remembrancers of my loss. Poor D'Hacqueville holds
the first rank ; I shall never forget the compassion he showed
me, These are the thoughts incessantly uppermost ; yet these
are to be passed over, it seems ; we are not to abandon our
selves to our thoughts, and the emotions of our heart. 1
had rather, however, continue my reveries on the kind of life
you are leading. It occasions a sort of diversion, without
making me abandon my principal, my beloved object. I do
then think of you. I am always wishing for letters from
you. One wish of this nature, when gratified, is followed by
another continually. I am in this state of expectation now, an<\
shall go on with my letter when I have received one from you

36 LETTERS TO

LETTER V.

Paris, "Wednesday, March 18, 16V 1.

I have received two packets at once, which have been de-
layed for a considerable time. By these I am at length in-
formed from yourself, of your entry into Aix, but you do not
mention whether your husband was with you, or in what
manner Vardes honored your triumph ; but you describe the
triumph itself very humorously, as well as the embarrassment
you were under, and your many misplaced civilities. I wish
that I had been with you ; not that I should have done better
than yourself, for I have not so good a gift of fixing names
upon faces — on the contrary, I daily commit a thousand blun-
ders in that way — but I think I could have been of some as-
sistance to you, at least I should have made courtesies enough.
It is true, that such a multiplicity of ceremonies and attentions
is very tiresome. You should, nevertheless, endeavor not to
be deficient in any of these points, but accommodate yourself,
as much as possible, to the customs and the manners of those
among whom you are to live.

An event has just taken place, which engrosses the whole
conversation of Paris. The king has ordered Monsieur de

S to resign his post, and to quit Paris immediately. Can

you guess the reason ? For having cheated at play, and won
upward of five hundred thousand crowns with false cards !
The man who made these cards was examined by the king
himself; he denied the fact at first; but, upon his majesty's
promising him a pardon, he confessed that he had followed
the trade for a long time. It is said that the affair will not
rtop here, for that there are several houses which he used to
furnish with these cards. It was some time before the kins:
**mld prevail upon himself to disgrace a man of Monsieur de

S 7s quality ; but as, for several months past, every body

that had played with him had been in a manner ruined, he
thought he could not in conscience do less than bring such a
scene of villainy to light. S was so perfectly master of

MADAME DE GBIONAN. 37

his adversaries' game, that he always made sept et le va upon
the queen of spades, because he knew the spades lay all in the
other packs. The king as constantly lost one-and-thirty upon
clubs, and used to say, clubs never win against spades in
this country. This man had given thirty pistoles to Madame
de la Valliere's valets de chambre to throw all the cards they
had in the house into the river, in the pretense that they were
not good, and had introduced his own card-maker. He was
first led into this fine way of life by one Pradier, who has

since disappeared. Had S known himself innocent, he

would immediately have delivered himself up, and insisted
upon taking his trial ; but, instead of this, he took the road to
Languedoc, as the surest way of the two ; many, however, ad-
vised him to take a journey to La Trappe,* after such a mis-
fortune.

Madame d'Humieres has charged me with a thousand good
wishes for you. She is going to Lille, where she will receive
as many honors as you did at Aix. Marshal Bellefond,
through a pure motive of piety, has settled with his creditors.
He has given up to them the principal part of his property,
besides half the profits of his post,f to complete the payment
of the arrears. This is a noble action, and shows that his
visits to La Trappe have not been without effect. I went the
other day to see the Duchess of Ventadour ; she was as hand-
some as an angel. The Duchess of Nevers came in, with her
head dressed very ridiculously. You may believe me, for you
know I am an admirer of fashion. Martin had cropped her
to the very extremity of the mode.

Your brother is at St. Germain ; he divides his time with
Ninon, a young actress,! and, to crown the whole, Despreaux.
We lead him a sad life.

* La Trappe is a society of religious monks, remarkable for the
austerity of their lives, and the severe discipline practiced among them.

f That of chief maitre d'hotel, or master cf the household, to the
king.

X Called la ChampSlee.

38 LETTERS TO

LETTER VI.

Paris, Friday, AprL lr 16*71.
I returned yesterday from St. Germain with Madame d'Ar-
pajon. Every one at court inquired after you; among the
rest, it will not be amiss, I think, to distinguish the queen,
who accosted me, and asked how my daughter was after her
affair upon the Rhone. I returned her majesty thanks for the
honor she did you in remembering you. She then desired
me to tell her in what manner you had like to have been lost ;
I accordingly gave her an account of your crossing the river
in a storm of wind, and that a sudden gust had thrown you
under an arch, within an inch of one of the piles, which if
you had once touched, all the world could not have saved
you. But, says the queen, " Was her husband with her ?"
" Yes, madam, and the coadjutor too." " Really," said she,
" they were greatly to blame." She gave two or three alasses !
while I was talking to her, and said many obliging things of
you. Afterward a number of ladies came in, and among the
rest the young Duchess of Ventadour, very fine and very
handsome ; it Avas some time before they brought her the
divine tabouret ;* " Ah," said I, turning to the grand master,f
" why do they not give it to her, she has purchased it dearly
enough ?"J He was of my opinion. In the midst of a silence
in the circle, the queen turned to me, and asked me who my
granddaughter was like? "M. de Grignan, madam," replied
I. Upon which her majesty exclaimed, " Indeed ! I am sorry
for it ;" and added, in a low tone of voice, " She had better
have resembled her mother or grandmother." So you see
how much I am indebted to you in making my court.
Marshal Bellefond made me promise to distinguish him from

* The tabouret is a stool to sit on in the presence of the queen, a
privilege never enjoyed but by ladies of the first quality.

f The Count de Lude, grand master of the artillery.

\ Monsieur de Yentadour was not only very ugly and deformed, but,
at the same time, a great debauchee.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 39

the crowd. I made your compliments to Monsieur and Ma-
dame Duras, and to Messieurs de Charot and Montausier, and
tutti quanti, not to forget the dauphin and mademoiselle, who
both talked a great deal to me about you. I likewise saw
Madame de Ludre ; she accosted me with an excess of civility
and kindness that surprised me, and talked in the most affec-
tionate manner of you, when all on a sudden, as I was going
to make her a suitable answer, I found she was not attending
to me, and saw her fine eyes wandering round the room. I
presently perceived it, and those who saw I took notice of it
were pleased with me, and could not help laughing.

I have been extremely diverted with our hurly-burly head-
dresses ; some of them looked as if you could have blown
them oft" their shoulders. Ninon* said that La Choiseul was
as like the flaunting hostess of an inn, as one drop of water to
another ; a most excellent simile ! But that Ninon is a dan-
gerous creature ; if you only knew how she argues upon re-
ligion it would make you shudder. Her zeal to pervert the
minds of young people is much the same as that of a certain
gentleman of St. Germain, that we saw once at Livri. She
says your brother has all the simplicity of the dove, that he is
just like his mother ; but that Madame de Grignan has all
the fire of the family, and has more sense than to be so docile.
A certain person would have taken your part, and put her out
of conceit with you on that head, but she bid him hold his
tongue, and told him that she knew more of the matter than
he did. What a depravity of taste ! Because she knows you
to be handsome and witty, she must needs saddle you with
the other qualification, without which, according to her rule,
there is no being perfect. I am greatly concerned for the
harm she does my son in this point ; but do not take any no-
tice of it to him. Madame de la Fayette and I use all our
endeavors to disengage him from so dangerous an attachment.
Besides her, he has a little actress,f and all the players of the

* Ninon de l'Enclos, famous for her wit and free-thinking.
f La Champelee.

40 LETTERS TO

town upon his hands, to whom he gives suppers ; in short, he
is perfectly infatuated. You know what a joke he makes of
Mascaron. I fancy your Minim* would suit him. I never
read any thing more diverting than what you wrote to me
about that man ; I read it to Monsieur de la Rochefoucault,
who laughed heartily at it. He desires me to tell you, that
there is a certain apostle who is running up and down after
his rib, which he would fain appropriate to himself, as a part
of his goods and chattels ; but, unluckily for him, he is not
clever at enterprise. I fancy Mellusina is fallen into some pit,
we do not hear a single word about her. M. de la Rochefou-
cault says besides, that if he was only thirty years younger, he
should certainly have a great inclination for M. de Grignan's
third rib.f That part of your letter, where you say he has
already had two of his ribs broken, made him laugh heartily ;
we always wish for some oddity or other to divert you, but
we very much doubt whether this has not turned out rather
more to your satisfaction than ours. After all, we pity you
extremely, in not having the word of God preached in a suit-
able manner. Ah, that Bourdaloiie ! his sermon on the
Passion was, they say, the most perfect thing of the kind that
can be imagined ; it was the same he preached last year, but
revised and altered with the assistance of some of his friends,
that it might be wholly inimitable ; how can one love God, if
one never hears him properly spoken of? you must really
possess a greater portion of grace than others. We went the
other day to hear the Abbe Montmort ;J I never heard a pret-
tier sermon for so young a beginner. I wish you had such a
one in the room of your Minim. He made the sign of the
cross, and gave out his text; he did not anathematize his
audience, he did not load us with abuse ; he told us not to be
under any apprehensions concerning death, since it was the
only passage we had to a glorious resurrection with Jesus

* The priest who preached at Grignan.

f That is, to Mme. de Grignan, who was M. de Grignan's third wife.

% Afterward Bishop of Bayonne.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 41

Christ. We agreed with him in this, and every one went
away contented. He has nothing offensive in his manner ; he
imitates Monsieur d'Agen without copying him ; he has a
modest confidence, is learned, and pious. In short, I was
highly pleased with him.

LETTER VII.

Paris, Friday, April 10, 1671.
I wrote to you on Wednesday by the post, yesterday by
Magalotti, and to-day again by the post ; but last night I lost
a charming opportunity. I went to walk at Vincennes, en
Troche* and by the way met with a string of galley-slaves ;
they were going to Marseilles, and will be there in about a
month. Nothing could have been surer than this mode of
conveyance, but another thought came into my head, which
was to go with them myself. There was one Duval among
them, who appeared to be a conversible man. You will see
them when they come in, and I suppose you would have
been agreeably surprised to have seen me in the midst of
the crowd of women that accompany them. I wish you
knew of what importance the words Provence, Marseilles, Aix,
are become to me ; even the Rhone, that devilish Rhone, and
Lyons, are something to me. Brittany and Burgundy appear
like places under the pole, in which I take no sort of inter-
est. I may say with Coulanges, " O, the surprising power of
my orvietan !" Really, my child, it was admirable in you to
desire the abbef to prevent my sending you any more pres-
ents ! What nonsense ! Do I in reality make you any ?
You call the newspapers I send you by that name. You
never can divest me of the desire of thus giving; :t is the
most sensible pleasure I can enjoy. You should rather re-

* With her friend, Madame de la Troche.

f The Abbe de Coulanges, who lived with his niece, Madame de
Sevigne.

42 LETTERS TO

joice with me, if I indulged myself more frequently in it.
The method you took of thanking me was highly pleasing
to me.

Your letters are excellent ; one might venture to say they
were not dictated by the good ladies of the country where
you reside. I find that M. de Grignan, to his other connec-
tions with you, adds that of being your companion ; he seems
to me the only one who understands you. Be careful to pre-
serve the happiness of his heart by the tenderness of yours,
and consider that if you do not both love me, each accord-
ing to your proper degree of estimation, you will be the
most ungrateful of beings. The new opinion, that there is
no such thing as ingratitude in the world, appears to me,
for the reasons which we have so frequently discussed, like the
philosophy of Descartes, and the contrary one like that of
Aristotle. You know the deference I always paid to the
authority of the latter ; it is the same with respect to my
opinion of ingratitude. I should pronounce you then, my
child, to be a little ungrateful wretch ; but, happily, and the
idea constitutes all my comfort, I know you to be incapable
of such conduct, and I therefore yield without reserve to the
feelings of my heart. Adieu, my dearest love, I am going
to close this letter. I shall write you another to-night, in
which I shall give you an account of the occurrences of the
day. We are every day in hopes of letting your house ; you
may suppose I can forget nothing that relates to you ; I
am as interested in your affairs as the most selfish being
ever was in his own.

LETTER VHI.

Friday night, April 10, 1671.
I make up my packet at Monsieur de la Rochefoucault's,
who embraces you very heartily ; he is delighted with your
answer about the canons and Father Desmares. There is

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 43

some pleasure m sending you these trifles, you answer them
so prettily. He begs you to be assured that you still live
strongly in his remembrance, and that if he bears any thing
worth your notice he will certainly communicate it to you.
He is at his Hotel de Rochefoucault, having no longer any
hopes of recovering the use of his feet ; he talks of going to
the waters ; I am for sending him to Digne, others to Bour-
bon. I dined en Bavardin* and in so complete a style that
I thought we should have died. We did not talk, merely, as
we used to do ; we did nothing but chatter.

Brancas was overturned the other day into a ditch, where
he found himself so much at his ease, that he asked those
who came to help him out if they had any occasion for his
services. His glasses were all broken, and his head wTould
have been so, too, if he had not been more lucky than wise ;
but all this did not seem to have destroyed his reverie in the
least. I wrote this morning to let him know he had been
overturned, and was very near breaking his neck, as I sup-
posed he was the only person in Paris who was ignorant of
it ; and that I took the opportunity of expressing the concern
it gave me. I expect his answer.

LETTER IX.

From Monsieur De la Rochefoucault's,
Friday evening, April 24, 1671.

Here, then, I make up my packet. I had intended to tell
you that the king arrived yesterday evening at Chantilly :
he hunted a stag by moonlight ; the lamps did wonders ; the
fire-works were a little eclipsed by the brightness of our se-
rene friend, the moon ; but the evening, the supper, and the
entertainment, went off admirably well. The weather we had
yesterday gave us hopes of an end worthy of so fine a begin-

* That is, at Madame de Lavardin's, who was extremely fond of
news.

44 LETTERS TO

ning. But what do you think I learned when I came here ?
I am not yet recovered, and hardly know what I write.
Vatel, the great Vatel, late maitre-d'hotel to M. Fouquet, and
in that capacity with the prince, a man so eminently distin-
guished for taste, and whose abilities were equal to the gov-
ernment of a state — this man, whom I knew so well, finding,
at eight o'clock this morning, that the fish he had sent for
did not come at the time he expected it, and unable to bear
the disgrace that he thought would inevitably attach to him,
ran himself through with his own sword. Guess what con-
fusion so shocking an accident must have occasioned. Think,
too, that perhaps the fish might come in just as he was ex-
piring. I know no more of the affair at present, and I sup-
pose you think this enough. I make no doubt the consterna-
tion was general ; it must be very disagreeable to have so
fatal an event break in upon an entertainment that cost fifty
thousand crowns.

Monsieur De Menars is to be married to Mademoiselle De
la Grange-Neuville ; but I do not know how I can have the
heart to speak to you about any thing but Vatel.

LETTER X.

Paris, Sunday, April 26, 16U.
This is Sunday, April 26th, and this letter will not go
out till Wednesday; but it is not so much a letter as a
narrative that I have just learned from Moreuil, of what
passed at Chantilly with regard to poor Vatel. I wrote to
you last Friday that he had stabbed himself — these are the
particulars of the affair : The king arrived there on Thurs-
day night ; the walk, and the collation, which was served in
a place set apart for the purpose, and strewed with jonquils,
were just as they should be. Supper was served, but there
was no roast meat at one or two of the tables, on account of
Vatel's having been obliged to provide several dinners more

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 45

than were expected. This affected his spirits, and he was
heard to say, several times : " I have lost my honor ! I can
not bear this disgrace r " My head is quite bew.ldered,"
said he to Gourville. " I have not had a wink of sleep these
twelve nights ; I wish you would assist me in giving orders."
Gourville did all he could to coinfort and assist him ; but the
failure of the roast meat (which, however, did not happen at
the king's table, but at some of the other twenty-five), was
always uppermost with him. Gourville mentioned it to the
prince, who went directly to Vatel's apartment, and said to
him : " Every thing is extremely well conducted, Vatel ; noth-
ing could be more admirable than his majesty's supper."
" Your highness's goodness," replied he, " overwhelms me ;
I am sensible that there was a deficiency of roast meat at
two tables." " Not at all," said the prince ; " do not perplex
yourself, and all will go well." Midnight came : the fire-
works did not succeed, they were covered with a thick cloud ;
they cost sixteen thousand francs. At four o'clock in the
morning Vatel went round and found every body asleep ; he
met one of the under-purveyors, who was just come in with
only two loads of fish. " What !" said he, " is this all ?"
" Yes, sir," said the man, not knowing that Vatel had dis-
patched other people to all the sea-ports around. Vatel wait-
ed for some time ; the other purveyors did not arrive ; his
head grew distracted ; he thought there was no more fish to
be had. He flew to Gourville : " Sir," said he, " I can not
outlive this disgrace." Gourville laughed at him. Vatel,
however, went to his apartment, and setting the hilt of his
sword against the door, after two ineffectual attempts, suc-
ceeded in the third, in forcing his sword through his heart
At that instant the carriers arrived with the fish ; Vatel was
inquired after to distribute it. They ran to his apartment,
knocked at the door, but received no answer, upon which
they broke it open, and found him weltering in his blood.
A messenger was immediately dispatched to acquaint the
prince with what had happened, who was like a man in de-

46 LETTERS TO

spair. The duke wept, for his Burgundy journey depended
upon Vatel. The prince related the whole affair to his maj-
esty with an expression of great concern ; it was considered
as the consequence of too nice a sense of honor ; some
blamed, others praised him for his courage. The king said
he had put off this excursion for more than five years, because
he was aware that it would be attended with infinite trouble,
and told the prince that he ought to have had but two tables,
and not have been at the expense of so many, and declared
he would never suffer him to do so again ; but all this was
too late for poor Vatel. However, Gourville attempted to sup-
ply the loss of Vatel, which he did in great measure. The
dinner was elegant, the collation was the same. They supped,
they walked, they hunted ; all was perfumed with jonquils,
all was enchantment. Yesterday, which was Saturday, the
same entertainments were renewed, and in the evening the
king set out for Liancourt, where he had ordered a media*
noche ;* he is to stay there three days. This is what Moreuil
has told me, hoping I should acquaint you with it. I wash
my hands of the rest, for I know nothing about it. M.
D'Hacqueville, who was present at the scene, will, no doubt,
give you a faithful account of all that passed ; but, because
his hand-writing is not quite so legible as mine, I write too ;
if I am circumstantial, it is because, on such an occasion, I
should like circumstantiality myself.

LETTER XI.

Monday, May 18, 16U. )
Just going to set out. f

At last, my dear child, I am just ready to step into my
carriage : there ! — I am in — adieu ! I never shall use that
word to you without real grief. I am now on my way for

* Media-noche is a flesh-meal just after midnight, among the Ro-
man Catholics.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 47

Brittany. Is it possible that any thing can increase the dis-
tance between us, when we are already separated from each
other more than two hundred leagues ? But so it is ; I have
found a way to complete it ; and as you thought your town
of Aix not quite far enough from me, I also, look upon Paris
as too much in your neighborhood. You went to Marseilles
to fly me, and I, to pay you in your own coin, am going to
Vitre. But to be serious, my dear, our correspondence will
suffer by this ; it used to be a great source of consolation and
amusement to me. Alas ! what shall I have to say to you
from the midst of my woods ? I shall have nothing to enter-
tain you with but accounts of Mademoiselle du Plessis and
Jaquine ;* charming subjects these ! I am very happy in
what you tell me of your health, but, in the name of God, if
you have any love for me, take care of yourself; do not dance,
do not fall, take a good deal of rest, and, above all things, ar-
range your plans so as to lie-in at Aix, where you may have
the best and the most timely assistance. You know how ex-
peditious you are on those occasions ; be sure to have every
thing ready rather too soon than too late. Good Heavens !
what shall I not suffer at that period !

You relate the dispute you had with our friend Vivonne
very agreeably. I think the fault lies entirely on his side.
You laid a famous trap in which you caught him completely.
His confusion made me sweat for him, and he did so himself,
I dare say ; but in the end you made it up and embraced him !
a greatf undertaking that, for one in your situation. If your
quarrels must end thus, you ought to have no quarrels not
enemies upon your hands.

* A pretty servant girl of Madame de Sevigne's at her house in
Brittany.

\ Monsieur de Yivonne was remarkable for his great bulk.

48 LETTERS TO

LETTER XII.

From the Rocks,* Sunday, May 31, 1611.

At last, my child, I am at the Rocks. Can I behold these
walks, can I view these ornaments, this little closet, these
books, these rooms, and not die with grief?' Some recollec-
tions are agreeable, but there are others again so lively and so
tender that they are hardly supportable ; such are mine with
respect to you. And you may easily guess the effect this is
likely to produce in a heart like mine.

If you continue pretty well, my dear child, I believe I shall
not come to you till next year. Brittany and Provence are
not very compatible ; long journeys are strange things. If we
were always to continue in the same mind we are in at the
end of a journey, we should never stir from the place we were
then in ; but Providence, in kindness to us, causes us to forget
it. It is much the same with lying-in women. Heaven per-
mits this forgetfulness that the world may be peopled, and
that folks may take journeys to Provence. Mine, therefore,
will afford me the greatest joy I ever received in my life, but
how cruel a thought is it to see no end to your stay there ! I
more and more admire and applaud your prudence, though,
to tell you the truth, I am greatly affected with this impossi-
bility ; but I hope time will make us see things in a different
light. We must always live in hope ; without that consola-
tion there would be no living. I sometimes pass such mel-
ancholy moments in the woods, that I return as changed as
one just out of a fever. I fancy you pass your time pretty
well at Marseilles. Do not fail to tell me how you were re-
ceived at Grignan. The people here had designed to make a
kind of triumphal entry for my son ; Vaillant had drawn out
near fifteen hundred men under arms, very well dressed, with
new ribbons round their necks, and had marched them within
a league of the Rocks. But guess what happened ! Our

* The name of Madame de Sevigne's estate in Brittany.

MADAME DEGRIGNAN. 49

abbe bad written word tbat we sbould be tbere on Tuesday,
and afterward forgot to mention it to us. Accordingly these
poor people were waiting under arms the whole day till ten
o'clock at night, when they returned home very much cha-
grined at their disappointment; and behold the next day,
which was Wednesday, we came in as quiet and peaceable as
lambs, without dreaming that a little army had been drawn
out to receive us ! We were a good deal vexed at this mis-
take, but there was no remedy ; so much for our first setting
out. Mademoiselle du Plessis is just as you left her. She
has formed a new acquaintance at Vitre that she plumes her-
self mightily upon, because she is a great genius, has read all
the romances, and, more than that, has had two letters from
the Princess de Tarante. I was wicked enough to set Vaillant
upon telling her that I was jealous of this new friend of hers,
and that, when I heard of their intimacy, it had given me the
greatest uneasiness, though I had taken no notice of it to her.
It requires the pen of a Moliere to describe all she says upon
the occasion ; and it is highly amusing to see how artfully
she manages me, and with what care she avoids speaking of
my supposed rival before my face ; I too play my part very
well. My little trees are grown surprisingly ; Pilois* is rais-
ing their stately heads to the clouds. In short, nothing can
be more beautiful than these walks, which you first saw
planted. You may remember I once gave you a little device
which was thought very suitable. Here is a motto I wrote
the other day upon a tree, which I intend for my son, who is
just returned from Candia. Vago difama.\ Is it not pretty,
notwithstanding its conciseness ? Yesterday I had another
inscribed in honor of the idlers, Bella cosafar niente!\ Ah !
my dear child, what a wild romantic air my letters have !
What is become of the time when I used to talk of Paris like
other people \ Now you will hear of nothing but myself; and,
to show you what confidence I have in your affection, I am

* The gardener at the Roeks. f Anxious for fame.

% "What a fine thing it is to do nothing.

3

50 LETTERS TO

persuaded this will be the most agreeable intelligence I can
give you. I am highly pleased with my company here. Our
abbe is at all times an excellent companion. La Mousse and
my son are satisfied with me, and I with them. We always
seek one another ; and if business at any time takes me from
them, they are at their wit's end, and think it very odd in me
to prefer a farmer's account to a tale of La Fontaine's. They
are all passionately in love with you. I fancy you will hear
from them soon. I choose however to be beforehand with
them, for I do not love talking to you in a crowd. My dear-
est child, will you always love me ? my life depends upon
your affection ! That, as I told you the other day, constitutes
all my joy and all my sorrow.

LETTER XIH.

The Eocks, Wednesday, June 10, 16T1.
I am going to entertain you to-day, my dear child, with
what is called rain and fine weather. I had not your letters
till Friday, and I answered them the Sunday following. I
begin then with the rain, for fair weather is out of the ques-
tion. For this week past it has rained incessantly ; I say in-
cessantly— for the rain has only been interrupted by storms.
I can not stir abroad, my workmen are all dispersed, and I am
devoured with melancholy ; La Mousse, too, is very low-spirited.
We read, indeed, and that just keeps us alive. My son is
gone to Rennes, whither we thought it necessary to send him,
to pay a visit to the first president, and several other friends
that I have there ; if he has time, I shall prevail on him to go
and see Monsieur de Coesquen ; he is old enough now for
these things. There was a ball at Vitre again on Sunday. I
very much fear that my son will become too fond of the com-
pany of ten or a dozen men that supped with him the other
night at the castle of Sevigne ; they may be borne with, but
he should be very cautious of forming too great an intimacy

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 51

with them. A dispute arose between two of the party about
some trifle or other ; the lie was given ; to it they went ; the
company endeavored to part them ; there was a great deal of
talk and very little sense ; however, monsieur le marquis* had
the honor of making up the difference, and afterward set out
for Rennes. There have been great cabals at Vitre : Made-
moiselle de Croqueoison complains that, at a ball the other day,
Mademoiselle du Cerni did not offer her part of some oranges
she had. We must hear what Mademoiselle du Plessis and
the Launayes have to say on this subject, as they know all the
circumstances relating to it. As to Mademoiselle du Plessis,
she lets all her affairs at Vitre run to ruin, because she wTill
not stir in them, from the fear of making me jealous on ac-
count of her new friend ; and it was but the other day that, to
make me quite easy, she said as many ill-natured things of
her as she could. When it is fine weather, this nonsense
makes me laugh, but when it is bad and gloomy, I could give
her a box on the ear, as you once did. Madame de Coulanges
writes me word that she has heard nothing of Brancas, except
that out of his six coach-horses he has only one left, and that
he was the last person to discover it. I hear no news. Our
little Alegre is at her mother's, and it is thought that M. de
Seignelai is to be married to her. I suppose you are in want
of persons to furnish you with intelligence ; for my part, I
despise trivial occurrences ; I am only for those that surprise
and astonish ; such a one I met with this very morning while
the abbe and I were in his study together. We found, in
reckoning with those counters of his which are so good, that
with all that has fallen to me, I ought to be worth 530,000
livres.f Do you know that what our dear abbe has left me
will not amount to less than 80,000 francs ? And do you
think I am not impatient to be in possession ? And 100,000
francs from Burgundy ; this has come since you were married,
the rest, viz.: 100,000 crowns by my marriage; 100,000

* Meaning her son, the Marquis of Sevigne.

f Upward of 20,000Z. sterling, reckoning a livre at lOd. halfpenny.

52 LETTERS TO

crowns since by M. de Chalons, and 20,000 francs, in little
legacies, from one or two of my uncles ; but do you not won-
der whither my pen is running with me ? I should do much
better to tell you what I suffer every day, when I reflect in
what places Providence has destined us to pass our lives.
This is a continual source of uneasiness to me, but let it not
be so to you ; you have not the same reason ; you are with a
husband that adores you, and in the midst of honors and
splendor ; but endeavor, if possible, to work some miracle ia
your affairs, so that your return to Paris may be retarded only
by the duties of your post, and not from necessity. It is very
easy to talk thus ; I wish it was as easily carried into execu-
tion, and wishes are not forbidden us. They write me word
that Madame de Valavoire is at Paris, and that she is forever
talking of your beauty, politeness, wit, talents, and, in short,
of the new he&d-dress you have invented, which it seems you
have executed in as good a style as if you had been in the
midst of the court. Madame de la Troche and I have at least
the honor of having described it so well as to put you in the
way of performing these wonders. She is at Paris still, that
La Troche. She is going to her own house about the latter
end of this month. As for me, I do not know what the States
intend doing; but I fancy I shall run away for fear of being
ruined. It is a mighty pretty thing to put myself to the ex-
pense of near a thousand crowns in dinners and suppers, and
all for the honor of keeping a summer-house for M. and
Madame de Chaulnes, Madame de Rohan, M. de Lavardin,
aad half Brittany, who, without knowing any thing of me, will,
to be in the fashion, honor me with their company. Well,
we shall see how it will turn out. I shall only regret leaving
M. d'Harrouis and this house, before I have half finished my
business. But, my dear child, the greatest inclination I have
at present is to be a little religious. I plague La Mousse about
it every day. I belong neither to God nor to the devil. I
am quite weary of such a situation, though, between you and
me, I look upon it as the most natural one in the world. 1

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 53

am not the devil's, because I fear God, and have at the bottom
a principle of religion ; then, on the other hand, I am not prop-
erly God's, because his law appears hard and irksome to me,
and I can not bring myself to acts of self-denial ; so that alto-
gether I am one of those called lukewarm Christians, the
great number of which does not in the least surprise me, for I
perfectly understand their sentiments and the reasons that in-
fluence them. However, we are told that this is a state highly
displeasing to God ; if so, we must get out of it. Alas ! this
is the difficulty. Was ever any thing so mad as I am, to be
thus eternally pestering you with my rhapsodies ? My dear
child, / ask excuse, as they say here ; but I must chat with
you, it is so truly delightful to me. Be sure, however, not to
return me an answer, only let me hear of your health, with a
little spice of your sentiments, that I may see that you are
happy, and that you like Grignan ; that is all. Love me ;
though we have turned the world into ridicule, it is natural, it
is good.

LETTER XIV.

The Rocks, Sunday, June 28, 1611.
You have amply made up to me my late losses ; I have re-
ceived two letters from you which have filled me with trans-
ports of joy. The pleasure I take in reading them is beyond
all imagination If I have in any way contributed to the im-
provement of your style, I did it in the thought I wa3 labor-
ing for the pleasure of others, not for my own. But Provi-
dence, who has seen fit to separate us so often, and to place us
at such immense distances from each other, has repaid me a
little for the privations in the charms of your correspondence,
and still more in the satisfaction you express in your situation,
and the beauty of your castle ; you represent it to me with an
air of grandeur and magnificence that enchants me. I once
saw a similar account of it by the first Madame de Grignan ;

54 LETTERS TO

but I little thought, at that time, that all these beauties were
one day to be at your command. I am very much obliged to
you for having given me so particular an account of it. If I
could be tired in reading your letters, it would not only be-
tray a very bad taste in me, but would likewise show that I
could have very little love or friendship for you. Divest your-
self of the dislike you have taken to circumstantial details.
I have often told you, and you ought yourself to feel the truth
of this remark, that they are as dear to us from those we love,
as they are tedious and disagreeable from others. If they are
displeasing to us, it is only from the indifference we feel for
those who write them. Admitting this observation to be true,
I leave you to judge what pleasure yours afford me. It is a fine
thing, truly, to play the great lady, as you do at present. I
perfectly comprehend Monsieur de Grignan's feelings in seeing
you so much admire his castle ; had you appeared insensible,
or even indifferent, on the occasion, it would have given him
a chagrin that I can conceive better perhaps than any other ;
and I share in the pleasure he has in seeing you pleased.
There are some hearts which sympathize for each other so
truly, that they judge by themselves what others feel. You
do not mention Vardes* often enough to me, nor poor Cor-
binelli. Was it not very agreeable to you to be able to speak

their language ? How goes on Vardes' love for the fair T ?

Tell me whether he is much hurt by the infinite length of
his banishment, or whether his philosophy, and a little dash of
misanthropy, can support his heart against these vicissitudes
of love and fortune. The books you read are well chosen.
Petrarch must certainly give you a good deal of pleasure, es-
pecially with the notes you have. Those of Mademoiselle de
Scuderi on some of his sonnets, rendered them very agreeable.
As for Tacitus, you know how much I was charmed with it, when
we read it together here ; and how often I used to interrupt

* The Marquis de Yardes was banished to Provence in 1665, for
having been concerned in some court intrigues, and remained in exile
till the year 1682. He was a man of amiable manners.

MADAME DE GRIQNAN. 55

you, to make you observe the periods, where I thought the
harmony particularly striking. But if you stop half way I
shall scold you ; it will be doing great injustice to the dignity
of the subject, and I shall say to you, as a certain prelate did
to the queen mother, " This is history ; you know what stories
are already." A reluctance, in this respect, is only pardona-
ble in romances, which I know you do not like. We read
Tasso with pleasure, and I am a pretty good proficient in the
language, from the excellent masters I have had. My son
makes La Mousse read Cleopatra,* and I listen to him,
whether I will or not, and am amused. My son is going to
Lorraine ; we shall be very dull in his absence. You know
how it vexes me to see the breaking up of an agreeable party,
and how transported I am when I see a train of carriages
driving off that have wearied me to death for a whole day ;
upon which we made this just observation, that bad company
is more desirable than good. I recollect all the odd things
we used to say when you were here, and all you said yourself,
and all you did ; your idea never leaves me ; and then again,
on a sudden, I think where you are ; my imagination repre-
sents to me an immense space, and a great distance ; on a
sudden your castle bounds the prospect, and I am displeased
at the walls that inclose your mall. Ours is surprisingly
beautiful, and the young nursery is delightful. I take pleas-
ure in rearing their little heads to the clouds, and frequently,
without considering consequences or my own interest, cut
down large trees, because their shade incommodes my young
ones. My son views all these proceedings, but I do not allow
him to interfere. Piloisf continues to be a very great favorite
with me, and I prefer his conversation to that of many who
have the title of chevalier in the parliament of Rennes. I am
grown rather more negligent than you ; for the other day I
let a coachful of the Fouesnelle family go home through a tre-
mendous rain, for want of pressing them with a good grace to

* A famous romance of La Calprenede's. f The gardener.

56 LE TIERS TO

stay ; but I could not get the compliment to pass my lips. It
was not the two young women, but the mother, and an old
woman from Kennes, and the two sons. Mademoiselle du
Plessis is exactly as you represent her, only if possible, more
impertinent. What she says and does every day to keep me
from being jealous, is perfectly original, and I am quite pro-
voked, sometimes, that I have nobody to laugh at it with me.
Her sister-in-law is very pretty, without being ridiculous, and
speaks Gascon in the midst of Brittany. I think you are very
happy in having Madame de Simiane* with you ; she has a
fund of knowledge that will relieve you from all kinds of re-
straint; this is a great deal. You will have, too, a very
agreeable companion in her.

I now return to you, that is, to the divine fountain of Vau-
cluse ! How beautiful ! Well might Petrarch make such
frequent mention of it ! But, remember, I shall some day
see all these wonders with my own eyes ; I, who have such a
veneration for antiquities. I shall certainly be transported
with them, and the magnificence of Grignan. The abbe will
find employment enough there. After the Doric orders and
splendid titles of your house, nothing is wanting but the or-
der you are going to establish there ; for, let me tell you,
without something substantial at the bottom, all is bitter-
ness and anxiety. I have great pity for those who ruin
themselves ; it is the only affliction in life that is felt alike
by all, and which is increased, instead of being diminished,
by time. I have frequent conversations on this subject with
a certain friend of ours. If he has a mind to benefit by
them, he has had opportunity enough to lay in a good stock,
and of such a nature he need not forget them. I am glad
that you are to have two of your brothers-in-law with you
this autumn. I think you have planned your journey well.
We can travel a great way without being fatigued, provided
we have something to amuse us by the way, and do not lose

* Magdelen Hai-du-Chatelet, wife to Charles Louis, Marquis of
p*oiiane; she was afterward mother-in-law to Paulina de Grignan.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 57

our courage. The return of fine weather has brought all my
workmen back again, which is a great amusement to me.
When I have company, I work at that fine altar-piece you
saw me drawing when you were at Paris ; when I am alone,
I read, I write, or am with the abbe in his closet upon busi-
ness. I wish him with you sometimes, but it is for two or
three days only.

I consent to the commerce of wit which you propose. The
other day I made a maxim off-hand, without once thinking of
it, aud I liked it so well that I fancied I had taken it out of
M. de la Rochefoucault's. Pray tell me whether it is so or
not, for in that case my memory is more to be praised than
iny judgment. I said, with all the ease in the world, that
" ingratitude begets reproach, as acknowledgment begets new
favors." Pray where did this come from ? Have I read it ?
did I dream it \ is it my own idea ? Nothing can be truer
than the thing itself, nor than that I am totally ignorant how
I came by it. I found it properly arranged in my brain, and
at the end of my tongue. As for that sentence, " bella cosa
far niente" you will not think it so dull when I tell you it is
intended for your brother : remember last winter's disaster.
Adieu, my dearest child ; take care of yourself, continue
handsome, dress well, amuse yourself, and take proper exer-
cise. I have just been writing to Vivonne,* about a captain
of a troop of Bohemians, whose confinement I have begged
him to render as easy as possible, without detriment to the
king's service. You must know that there was among the
troop of Bohemiansf that I was mentioning to you the other
day, a young girl who danced extremely well, and put me
very much in mind of your manner. I was pleased with her.
She begged me to write to Provence in favo" of her grand-
father. " Where is he ?" said I. " He is at Ma"seilles," said
she, with as much composure and unconcern as if she bad
said, " He is at Vincennes." He was a man of singular

* General of the galleys. f Gipseys.

3*

58 LETTERS TO

merit, it seems, in his way ;* in short, I promised her to write
about him ; I immediately thought of Vivonne. I send you
my letter ; if you are not sufficiently upon terms with him
to allow of my jesting with him, you may burn it ; if it is an
ill- written letter you may burn it ; but if you are friendly
with his corpulency, and my letter will save you the trouble
of writing one, seal it and send it to him. I could not refuse
this request to the poor girl, and to the best-danced minuet
that I have seen since the days of Mademoiselle de Sevigne.
She had just your air, was about your height, has good teeth,
and fine eyes. Here is a letter of so enormous a length that
I can easily forgive your not reading it through. Monsieur
de Grignan can not conceive how one can possibly read such
long letters ; but, in good earnest, can you read them in a
day?

LETTER XV.

The Books, Sunday, July 5, 1671.
It is a great proof of your love, my dear child, that you
can bear with all the nonsense I send you from hence. You
defend Mademoiselle de Croqueoison extremely well. In re-
turn, I assure you there is not a single word in your letters
that is not dear to me. I am afraid to read them for fear of
ending them, and if it were not for the consolation that I can
read them over as often as I please, I should make them last
much longer ; but then, on the other hand, my impatience
makes me ready to devour them. What should I do if your
writing was as illegible as D'Hacqueville's ? Would the
greatness of my affection help me to decipher it ? Really, I
am afraid not ; but I have heard of such instances. In short,
I greatly esteem D'Hacqueville, and yet I can not accustom
myself to his handwriting ; I never can read his letters ; I

* And had been condemned to the galleys for having distinguished
himself rather too much in his Bohemian faculty.

MADAME DEGRIGNAN. 59

hunt out word by word ; I puzzle myself with guessing at
them ; I say one word for another, and at last, when I can
make neither head nor tail of it, away I fling the letter in a
rage. But I tell you this as a secret, for I would not have
him know that his letters give me all this trouble. He thinks,
poor man, his hand is like print ; but you, who know the con-
trary, tell me how you manage. My son set out yesterday,
greatly concerned at parting with us. I endeavored to in-
spire him with every good, just, and noble sentiment that I
was mistress of, and to confirm all the good qualities I had
remarked in him. He received my advice with all imagina-
ble sweetness and marks of approbation ; but you know the
weakness of human nature ; I leave him, therefore, in the
hands of Providence, reserving to myself the comfort of hav-
ing nothing to reproach myself with in regard to him. As
he has a fund of wit and humor, we shall necessarily miss
him extremely. We are going to begin a moral treatise of
Nicole's. If I were at Paris I would send it to you ; I am
sure you would admire it. We continue to read Tasso with
pleasure. I am almost afraid to tell you that I am returned
to Cleopatra ; and, by good fortune, the short memory I have
makes it still pleasing to me. I have a bad taste, you will
say ; but you know I can not affect a prudery which is not
natural to me, and as I am not yet arrived at a- time of life
that forbids the reading such works, I suffer myself to be
amused with them, under the pretense that my son brought
me into it. He used to read us some chapters, too, out of
Rabelais, which were enough to make us die with laughing ;
in return, he seemed to take a good deal of pleasure in talk-
ing with me ; and, if he is to be believed, he will remember
what I have said to him. I know him well, and can often
discern good sentiments through all the levity of his conver-
sation. If he is dismissed this autumn, we shall have him
again.

I have mentioned Launaye to you ; she was bedaubed the
other day like a twelfth-day taper ; we thought she resembled

60 LETTERS TO

the second volume of a sorry romance, or the Romance of the
Rose, exactly. Mademoiselle du Plessis is always at my
elbow ; when I read the kind things you say of her, I am as
red as fire. The other day La Biglesse played Tartuffe to the
life. Being at table, she happened to tell a fib about some
trifle or other, which I noticed, and told her of it ; she cast
her eyes to the ground, and with a very demure air, " Yes, in-
deed, madam," said she, " I am the greatest liar in the world ;
I am very much obliged to you for telling me of it." We all
burst out a-laughing, for it was exactly the tone of Tartuffe :
" Yes, brother, I am a wretch, a vessel of iniquity." She at-
tempts sometimes to be sententious, and gives herself airs of
understanding which sit still worse upon her than her own
natural way. There ! I think you know every thing about
the Rocks.

LETTER XVI.

The Rocks, Sunday, July 12, 1671.
I have received but one letter from you, my dear child,
which vexes me ; I used generally to have two. It is a bad
thing to use one's self to such dear and tender cares as yours ;
there, is no being happy without them. If M. de Grignan's
brothers come to you this summer, they will be good company
for you. The coadjutor has been a little indisposed, but is
now perfectly recovered ; he is incredibly lazy, and is the
more to blame, as he can write extremely well when he sets
about it. He has a great regard for you, and intends visiting
you about the middle of August — he can not before. He pro-
tests, but I believe it is false, that he has no branch to rest
upon, which hinders him from writing, and makes his eyes
ache. This is all I know about Seigneur Corbeau. How odd
it is of me to tell you all this, when I do not know myself
how I stand with him ! If you should know any thing of the
matter, pray inform me. I reflect every hour of the day upon

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 61

the times when I used to see you always about me, and am
perpetually regretting the loss of those happy moments. Not
that I can reproach my heart with having been insensible of
the pleasure of your company ; for I solemnly protest to you,
I never looked on you with the indifference or coolness that
grows upon long acquaintance ; no, I can not reproach myself
with that. What I regret is, that I did not see you so con-
stantly as I could now wish I had, but suffered cruel business
sometimes to tear me from you. It would be a fine thing to
fill my letters with what fills my heart ; alas ! as you say, we
should glide over many thoughts, without seeming to regard
them. Here then I rest, and conjure you, if I am at all dear
to you, to be particularly careful of your health. Amuse
yourself, do not study too much, carry yourself safely through
your pregnancy ; after that, if M. de Grignan really loves you,
and is resolved not to kill you outright, I know what he will
do, or rather what he will not do.

Have you cruelty enough not to finish Tacitus ? Can you
leave Germanieus in the midst of his conquests? If you
really intend to serve him so paltry a trick, let me know where
you leave off, and I will finish for you, which is all I can do
to serve you at present. We have gone through Tasso, and
with a great deal of pleasure ; we found beauties in him, that
are unknown to those who are only half read in the language.
We have begun our morality* it is of much the same nature
as Pascal's. Talking of Pascal, I have taken into my head to
almost adore those gentlemen, the postillions who are inces-
santly carrying our letters backward and forward. There is
not a day in the week, but they bring one either to you or to
me ; there is one every day, and every hour of the day, upon
the road. Kind-hearted people, how obliging it is of them !
What a charming invention is the post, and what a happy
effect of Providence is the desire of gain ! I sometimes think
of writing to them co show my gratitude ; and I believe I
should have done it before, had I not remembered that chap-

* M. Nicole's Moral Essays.

62 LETTERS TO

ter in Pascal, and been afraid that they might have perhaps
thought proper to thank me for writing to them, as I thanked
them for carrying my letters. Here is a fine digression for
you. But to return to our reading. It was without preju-
dice to Cleopatra that I laid a wager I would read it through ;
you know how I support my wagers. I often wonder how I
could like such ridiculous stuff; I can hardly comprehend it.
You may perhaps remember enough of me to know how much
a bad style displeases me ; that I have some taste for a good
one, and that no person is more sensible to the charms of elo-
quence. I well know how wretched La Calprenedre's style is
in many places, on account of its long-winded periods, and
bad choice of words. I wrote a letter to your brother in that
style the other day, which was pleasant enough. However,
though I find such glaring faults in Calprenedre, though I
know how detestable that way of writing is, yet I can not leave
it. The beauty of the sentiments, the violence of the passions,
and the miraculous success of their redoubtable swords, en-
tices me away like a child ; I become a party in all their designs,
and if I had not the example of M. de la Rochefoucault and
D'Hacqueville to comfort me, I should be ready to hang my-
self for being guilty of such a weakness. You appear before
me, and cry " Shame !" yet still I go on. I shall have great
honor in being intrusted by you with the care of preserving
you in the abbe's friendship. He loves you tenderly ; you are
often the subject of our conversation, with your state, your
grandeur, and so forth. He would not willingly die without
having first taken a trip to Provence, and rendered you some
service. I am told, that poor Madame de Monti uet is on the
point of losing her senses ; she has been raving hitherto with-
out once shedding a tear, but now she has a violent fever, and
begins to cry. She says she will be damned, since her dear
husband is inevitably so. We go on with our chapel. The
weather is very hot ; but the mornings and evenings are de-
lightful in the woods, and under the shade of the trees before
the house. My apartment is extremely cool. I am afraid you
suffer from the heat in Provence.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN.

LETTER XVII.

The Rocks, "Wednesday, August 19, 1671.
You describe very humorously the disorder my perfumed
paper occasioned you. Those who saw you read my letters
must have thought I was dead, and could never imagine that
they contained nothing but chit-chat. I am very far from
correcting myself in the way you imagined. I shall always
run into extremes in what is for your good, if it depends on
me. I already began to think that my paper might do you
harm, but I did not intend to change it till about November.
However, I begin from this day, and for the future you will
have nothing to guard against but the smell.

You have a tolerable number of the Grignans with you ;
the Lord deliver you from the aunt,* I feel her troublesome
even here. The chevalier's sleeves must have had a curious
effect at table ; but though they draw every thing along with
them, I much question whether they would draw me ; fond as
I am of fashion, I have a great aversion to slovenliness. Vitre
would be a famous place for bim. I think I never saw such
profusion before. There is not a table at court that can come
up to the meanest of the twelve or fifteen that are constantly
kept up here ; and, indeed, there is occasion for all this, for
there are no less than three hundred people to be provided for,
Ho have nowhere else to eat. I left this good town last Mon-
day, after having made your compliments to Mme. de Chaulnes
and Mme. de Murinais. Nothing could be more cordially re-
ceived, or more warmly returned. All Brittany was drunk on
that day. "We dined apart. Forty gentlemen dined in a lower
room, each of whom drank forty toasts ; the king's was the first,
and then the glasses were broken. All this was done under pre-
tense of extreme joy and gratitude for a hundred thousand
crowns which his majesty had remitted out of the free gift the
province had made him, as a recompense for their having so

* Ann d'Ornano, Countess of Harcourt, aunt to M. de Grignan.

64 LETTERS TO

cheerfully complied with his request. So now there is only
two millions two hundred thousand livres, instead of five
hundred thousand. The king, too, has written a letter with
his own hand, full of the kindest expressions to his good prov-
ince of Britany. This letter the governor read to the States
assembled, and a copy of it was registered. Upon this they
shouted Vive le roi ! and immediately fell to drinking ; and
drink they did, God knows ! M. de Chaulnes did not for-
get the gouvernante of Provence ; and a Breton gentleman
going to toast you by your name, and not well remembering
it, got up, and, in a loud voice, exclaimed, " Here is to Madame
de Carignan? This ridiculous mistake made M. de Chaulnes
laugh till the tears came into his eyes. The Bretons drank
it, thinking it was right ; and, for a week to come, you will be
nothing but Madame de Carignan ; some called you the Coun-
tess of Carignan. This was the state of things when I left
them.

I have shown Pomenars what you say of him. He is highly
delighted with it ; but I assure you he is so hardened and im-
pudent, that once or twice in a day he makes the first presi-
dent leave the room, to whom he is a mortal enemy, as well
as to the procurator-general. Madame de Coetquen had just
received the news of the death of her little girl, and fainted
away. She is in great affliction, and says she shall never have
so pretty a one. Her husband is quite inconsolable ; he is
just returned from Paris, after having made matters up wTith
Le Bordage. This was a most extraordinary affair ; he has
transferred all his resentments to M. de Turenne * I suppose
you know nothing of this, but it fell unintentionally from my
pen. There was a pretty ball on Sunday. We saw a girl of
Lower Brittany who, they said, bore away the palm. She was
the most ridiculous creature I ever saw, and threw herself into
such attitudes as made us die with laughing. But there were

* Glory, which is the last passion of the sage, was not the only pas-
sion of Turenne ; for, at the age of sixty, he was in love with Madame
de Coetquen.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN, 65

other dancers, both men and women, that were really admir-
able.

If you ask me how I like my Rocks after all this hurry, I
shall tell you that I am delighted to be here again. I shall
stay for a week or ten days at least, in spite of their endeavors
to get me back. I want rest more than I can describe to you.
I want to sleep ; I want to eat, for I am starved at theae fetes.
I want the fresh air ; I want silence, for I was attacked on all
sides, and my lungs were almost worn out with talking. In
short, my dear, I found our abbe, La Mousse, my dog, my mall,
Philois, and my masons, all as I left them, and they are the
only things that can do me any good in my present condition.

LETTER XVin.

The Rocks, Sunday, August 23, 1671.
You were with the president of Charme's lady, then, when
you wrote to me. Her husband was the intimate friend of
Monsieur Fouquet. Am I right in this ? In short, my
dear, you were not alone ; and M. de Grignan acted wisely
in making you leave your closet to entertain your com-
pany. He might, however, have spared his capuchin's beard,
though he did not appear much the worse for it in your eyes,
for when he was at Livri, with his bushy tuft,* you thought
him handsomer than Adonis. I often repeat these four verses
with admiration. It is surprising what an impression the re-
membrance of any particular time makes upon the mind,
whether good or bad. Sometimes I *hink of that delicious
autumn ; and then again, when I reflect on the latter part of
it, I sweat with horror ;f yet we ought to be thankful to Prov-
idence, who delivered you out of the danger you were in.

* Sa touffe ebouriffee. Part of a lout rime, filled up by Madame de
Grignan.

f On account of a miscarriage that Madame de Grignan had at
Livri, the 4th November, 1669.

66 LETTERS TO

Your reflections upon the death of M. de Guise are admira-
ble ; they have made me plow up my mall with my eyes ; for
it is there I meditate with most pleasure. Poor La Mousse
has been afflicted with the tooth-ache, so that for a long time
I have walked alone till night, and thought of — God knows
what I have not thought of. Do not be under apprehensions
of my growing weary of solitude : set aside the ills that arise
from my own heart, and against which I have not strength to
struggle, and I am not to be pitied in any respect. I am of a
happy temper ; I can accommodate myself to, and be pleased
with any thing ; and I prefer my retirement here to all the
noise and pageantry of Vitre. I have been here a week, and
the tranquillity I have enjoyed has cured me of a dreadful
cold. I have drank nothing but water ; have talked very lit-
tle ; have left off suppers ; and by this method, without hav-
ing shortened my walks, I am quite well again. Madame de
Chaulnes, Madame de Murinais, Madame Fourche, and a very
fine girl from Nantes, came here last Thursday. Madame de
Chaulnes told me, as she came into my room, that she could
exist no longer without seeing me ; that she had the weight
of all Brittany upon her shoulders, and should die with fa-
tigue. She then flung herself upon my bed ; we sat round
her, and she was fast asleep in a minute, from mere fatigue,
though we continued talking. At last she awoke, highly
charmed with the ease and freedom we enjoy at the Rocks.
We then took a walk. Afterward she and I sat down to rest
ourselves in the center of the wood, and while the rest were
diverting themselves at mall, I made her tell me how she
came to marry M. de Chaulnes ; for I always love to fish out
something by way of amusement ; but in the midst of our en-
tertainment there came on just so treacherous a shower like
the one you may remember at Livri, that we were nearly
drowned. The water ran from our clothes in streams ; it
came through the trees in a moment, and we were instantly
wet to the skin. We ran as fast as we could, some scream-
ing, others sliding, others falling. At last we got in, a roar-

MADAME DE GRIGNAN, 67

ing fire was made, we changed our dress from head to foot, I
furnishing the whole wardrobe. We dried our shoes, and
were ready to die with laughing all the while. In this man-
ner was the gouvernante of Brittany treated in her own gov-
ernment. After this we had a slight repast, and then the
poor woman left us, more vexed, I dare say, at the part she
had to play when she got home, than at the affront she
had received here. She made me promise to relate this ad-
venture to you, and to come and assist her to-morrow in enter-
taining the States, which will break up in about a week. I
engaged to do both ; of the one I now acquit myself, and of
the other I shall acquit myself to-morrow, as I can not help
showing her this civility.

LETTER XIX.

The Rocks, Wednesday, September 16, 1671.
I am wicked to-day, my child. I am just in the same hu-
mor as when you used to say, " You are wicked." I am very
dull and spiritless : I have not heard from you. u Warm af-
fections are never tranquil ;" a maxim. It rains ; we are quite
alone ; in short, I wish you a pleasanter day than I am likely
to have. What greatly perplexes the abbe, La Mousse, and
the rest of my party, is, that there is no remedy for the evil.
I want it to be Friday, that I may have a letter from you, and
it is but Wednesday. This puzzles them. They do not
know what to do for me in this case, for if, in the excess of
their friendship, they were to assure me it was Friday, that
would be still worse ; for if I had not a letter from you then,
I should be lost to all reason. I am obliged to have patience ;
though patience, you know, is a virtue that I am not much in
the habit of practising ; but I shall be easy before three days
have passed. I am very anxious to know how you are after
your alarm. These alarms are my aversion ; for though I am
not with child myself, they make me become so, that is, they

68 LETTERS TO

put me in a condition that entirely destroys my healthy
However, my uneasiness does not at present reach so far ; for
I am persuaded you have been prudent enough to keep your
bed, and that will have set all matters right again. Do not
tell me, that you will not let me know any thing about your
health ; that would make me desperate, and having no longer
any confidence in what you say, I should be always in the
way I am in at present. We are, it must be owned, at a fine
distance from each other, and if either of us had any thing
upon the mind that required immediate relief, we should have
plenty of time to hang ourselves in.

I thought it necessary yesterday to take a small dose of
morality, and I found myself a great deal the better for it ;
and still more so for a little criticism on the Berenice of Ra-
cine, which I thought very diverting and ingenious. It is by
the author* of the sylphs, gnomes, and salamanders. There
are a few words which are not quite so good as they should
be, and even unbecoming a man who knows the world ; these
grate the ear ; but, as they occur only here and there, they
ought not to prejudice us against the whole, which, I assure
you, upon examination, I found a very well-written critique.
As I fancied this trifle would have diverted you, I heartily
wished for you by my side in the closet, provided you could
return again to your magnificent castle as soon as you had
read it. And yet I own I should have felt some pain in let-
ting you go so soon. I know too well what the last parting
cost me. It would partake of the humor I have just been
complaining of. I can not think of it even now without shud-
dering ; but you are safe from this inconvenience. I hope this
letter will find you cheerful ; if so, I beg you will burn it
directly, for it would be very extraordinary if it should be
agreeable to you, considering the horrid humor I write it in.
It is very happy for the coadjutor that I do not answer his
letter to-day.

I have a great inclination to ask you a thousand questions

* The A.bbe Yillars, author of the Count de Gabalis.

MADAME DEGRIGNAN. • 6$.

by way of finishing this performance worthily. Have you
many grapes ? you tell me only of figs. Is the weather very
hot ? you do not say a word about it. Have you such charm-
ing cattle as we have at Paris ? Has your aunt D'Harcourt
been with you long ? You see . that, having lost so many of
your letters, I am quite ignorant how matters stand, and have
entirely lost the thread of your discourse. Ah ! how I long
to beat somebody ! and how much I should be obliged to any
Breton that would come and say something very silly, to put
me in a passion ! You told me the other day that you were
glad I was returned to my solitude that I might think of you.
Very pretty that ! as if I did not think sufficiently of you in
every other place. Farewell, my dear — this is the best part of
my letter. I finish, because I think I talk foolishly, and 1
must preserve my credit.

LETTER XX.

The Rocks, Wednesday, Sept. 30, 1671.
I believe the Leonic opinion is now the most ascertained.
He understands the subject completely, can tell whether mat-
ter reasons or not, what kind of intelligence God has given to
the brute creation, with other subjects that occupied his
thoughts. You may perceive by this that I suppose him in
heaven, 0 che spero /* He died on Monday morning ; I was
then at Vitre and saw him, but I wish I had not seen him.
His brother seems inconsolable ; I invited him to my woods
that he might weep at liberty, but he told me he was too
deeply afflicted to seek consolation. The poor bishop was
only five and thirty years of age ; he was well provided for,
and had an admirable taste for science ; this was, in fact, the
cause of his death, as it was of Pascal's — he wore himself out
with study. You are not much interested in this detail ; but
it is the news of the place, and you must, therefore, bear with

* 0, how I wish it 1

70 LETTERS TO

it. Death, in my opinion, is the concern of every one, and its
consequences strike home to our bosoms.

I read M. Nicole with a degree of pleasure that lifts me
above the earth. I am particularly charmed with his third
treatise on the means of preserving peace and harmony among
mankind. Read it, I beseech you, and with attention ; you
will see how clearly he develops the intricacies of the human
heart, in which every sect is alike included — philosophers,
Jansenists, Molinists, in short, all mankind : this may truly be
called searching to the bottom of the heart with a lantern.
He discovers to us sensations that we feel daily, but which we
have neither the wit to comprehend nor the sincerity to ac-
knowledge. In a word, I never read any thing like it, except
Pascal. Were it not for the amusement of our books we
should be moped to death for want of employment. It rains
incessantly. I need say no more to make you conceive how
dull our situation is. But you who enjoy a sunshine which is
so much the object of my envy, how do I pity you to be torn
from Grignan, while the weather is delightful, in the middle
of autumn, and from an agreeable society, and all this to be
shut up in a little dirty town ! I can not bear the idea.
Could not M. de Grignan have put off the assembly a little
longer ? Is he not master in this respect ? And poor Cou-
langes, what will become of him ? Our recluse mode of life
has so turned our brains that we make matters of consequence
of every thing. Receiving and answering letters takes up
some of our time, indeed, but we have always enough left
upon our hands. You make our abbe proud by the kind
things you say of him in your letters. I am satisfied with
him on your account. As for La Mousse, he catechises Sun-
days and holidays ; he is resolved to go to heaven. I tell him
it is only out of curiosity, to see whether the sun is a heap of
dust, continually in motion, or a globe of fire. The other day
he assembled all the children of the village about him, and was
catechising them, but after several questions they had so con-
founded things, that when he asked them who the Blessed

MADAME DE QBIGNAN. 7l

Virgin was, they all with one accord answered, " The Creator
of heaven and earth." His faith was not shaken by the chil-
dren, but finding the men and women, and even the old peo-
ple, all in the same story, he began to doubt, and at length
joined in the opinion ; in short, he did not know what he was
about, and if I had not luckily come to his aid he would never
have got out of the scrape. This new opinion would certainly
have been productive of more mischief than that of the mo-
tion of atoms. Farewell, my dear child, you see we tickle
ourselves in order to laugh, to so low an ebb are we re-
duced.

LETTER XXI.

The Rocks, Wednesday, October, 7, 1671.
You know I am always carried away by what I read, so
that it is for the interest of those I converse with, that I should
read none but the best books. I can think of nothing at pres-
ent but M. Nicole's Moral Reflections. His treatise on the
means of preserving peace among men, delights me. I never
met with any thing so truly practical, yet so full of fire and
imagination. If you have not yet read it, I beg you will. If you
have read it, read it again with additional attention. For my
part, I think all mankind are included in it. I am persuaded
it was made for me, and hope to profit by it ; at least I shall
endeavor to do so. You know I could never bear the old saying,
" I am too old to mend ;" I could much sooner pardon the
young for saying, I am too young. Youth is in itself so
amiable, that were the soul as perfect as the body, we could
not forbear adoring it ; but when youth is past, it is then we
ought to think of improvements, and endeavor to supply the
loss of personal charms by the graces and perfections of the
mind. I have long made this the subject of meditation, and
am determined to work every day at my mind, my soul, my
heart, and my sentiments. I am full of this at present, and

72 LETTERS TO

therefore fill my letter with it, having besides nothing of
greater consequence to tell you.

I suppose you are at Lambesc, but I can not see you clearly
from hence ; there is a mist about my imagination that con-
ceals you from my sight. I had formed an idea of Grignan,
I saw your apartment, used to walk upon your terrace, and
went to mass at your beautiful church. But now I am quite
at a loss ; I wait with great impatience for intelligence from
your new quarters. I will write no more to-day, though I
have a great deal of time upon my hands ; for I have nothing
but trifles to tell you, which would be an affront to the lady-
lieutenant of a province, who is holding the States, and, con-
sequently, has weighty affairs upon her hands. It may do
well enough when you are in your little palace of Apollo.
Our abbe and La Mousse are very much yours ; and I, my
dear child, need I tell you what I am, or what you are to me ?

LETTER XXII.

The Rocks. Wednesday, November 4, 1671.
Let us talk of M. Nicole, it is a long time since we have
said a word about him. There is a great deal of justice in
your observation respecting the indifference he requires us to
show to the opinion of the world ; I think with you, that
philosophy will hardly be found sufficient of itself, without the
assistance of grace. He lays so great a stress on preserving
peace and good fellowship with our neighbor, and recommends
so many things to us in order to attain these, that it is next
to an impossibility, after this, to be indifferent to what the
world thinks of us. Guess what I am doing ; I am beginning
this treatise again — methinks I could wish to swallow it, like
EzekiePs roll. I am delighted with what he says on the sub-
ject of pride and self-love, which enter into all disputes, under
the feigned name of the love of truth. In short, this treatise
will apply to more than one in the world ; but I can not help

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 73

thinking that he had me principally in. view when he wrote it.
He says, eloquence, and a flow of words, give a luster to the
thoughts. I greatly admire that expression; I thought it
beautiful and new. The word luster is extremely apposite
there, do you not think so ? We must read this book to-
gether at Grignan. I pass my time in having masses said for
you every day, and in a multitude of disagreeable thoughts,
which can be of no service to you, but which, however, it is
impossible to avoid. I have at present ten or twelve workmen
in the air, raising the timbers of our chapel. They run back-
ward and forward upon the outside of it like so many rats ;
they hold by nothing, and are every instant in danger of
breaking their necks, and make my back ache with endeavor-
ing to help them below. One can not but admire the won-
derful effects of Providence in the desire of gain, and be
thankful such people are created, who are willing to do for a
shilling what others would not do for a hundred thousand
pounds. " O, thrice happy they who plant cabbages ! when
they have one foot on the ground, the other is not far off." I
have this from a very good author.* We have planters too
with us, who are forming new avenues. I hold the young
trees myself while they set them in the ground, unless it rains
so that there is no being abroad ; but the weather almost
drives me to despair, and makes me wish for a sylph to trans-
port me to Paris. Madame de la Fayette says, that since you
tell the story of Auger in so serious a manner, she is per-
suaded nothing can be more true, and that you are by no
means jesting with me. She thought at first that it had been
a joke of Coulanges', and it looks very like it. If you write
to him upon the subject, pray let it be in that style.

* Panur

74 •' LETTERS TO

LETTER XXIII.

Paris, Wednesday, Jan. 13, 16*72.

For Heaven's sake, my dear child, what do you mean ?
What pleasure can you take in thus abusing your person and
understanding, vilifying your conduct, and saying, that one
must have great good-nature to think of you sometimes?
^hough I am certain you. can not believe all you say, yet it
nurts me to hear it ; you really make me angry with you ;
and though, perhaps, I ought not to answer seriously things
that are only said in jest, yet I can not help scolding you be-
fore I go any further. You are excellent again, when you say
you are afraid of wits. Alas ! if you knew how insignificant
they are when you are by, and how encumbered they are
with their own dear persons, you would not value them at all.
Do you remember how you used to be deceived in them
sometimes ? Do not let distance magnify objects too much ;
but it is one of its common effects.

We sup every evening at Madame Scarron's ; she has a
most engaging wit, and an understanding surprisingly just
and clear. It is a pleasure to hear her sometimes reason upon
the horrid confusion and distractions of a country with which
she is very well acquainted. The vexations that Heudicourt
undergoes in a place that appears so dazzling and glorious ;
the continual rage of Lauzun ; the gloomy chagrin and cares
of the court ladies, from which the most envied are not always
exempt ; are things which she describes in the most agreeable
and entertaining manner. Such conversations as these lead
us insensibly from one moral reflection to another, sometimes
of a religious, sometimes of a political kind. You are fre-
quently one of our subjects ; she admires your wit and man-
ners ; and, whenever you return hither, you are sure of being
highly in favor.

But let me give you an instance of the king's goodness and
generosity, to show you what a pleasure it is to serve so ami-

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 75

able a master: He sent for Marshal Bellefond into his clcset
the other day, and thus accosted him : " Monsieur le mare-
chal, I insist upon knowing your reasons for quitting my ser-
vice. Is it through a principle of devotion ? Is it from an
inclination to retire ? Or is it on account of your debts ? If
it be the latter, I myself will take charge of them, and inform
myself of the state of your affairs." The marshal was sensibly
affected with this goodness : " Sire," said he, " it is my debts ;
I am overwhelmed with them, and can not bear to see some of
my friends, who assisted me with their fortunes, likely to
suffer on my account, without having it in my power to sat-
isfy them." " Well, then," said the king, " they shall have
security for what is owing to them : I now give you a hun-
dred thousand francs on your house at Versailles, and a grant
of four hundred thousand more, as a security in case of your
death. The hundred thousand francs will enable you to pay
off the arrears, and so now you remain in my service." That
heart must be insensible indeed, that could refuse the most
implicit obedience to such a master, who enters with so much
goodness and condescension into the interest of his servants.
Accordingly the marshal made no further resistance ; he is
now reinstated in his j)lace, and loaded with favors. This is
all strictly true.

Not a night passes at St. Germains without balls, plays, or
masquerades. The king shows an assiduity to divert this
madam e that he never did for the other. Racine has brought
out a new piece called Bajazet, which they say carries every
thing before it : indeed it does not go in emperando, as the
others did. Monsieur de Tallard says, that it as much ex-
ceeds the best piece of Corneille's, as Corneille's does one of
Boyer's ; this now is what you may call praising by the lump ;
there is nothing like telling truth ; however, our eyes and ears
will inform us more fully ; for

Du bruit de Bajazet mon ame importune e *
* A line in Despreaux.

76 LETTERS TO

obliges me to go immediately to the play ; we shall see what
it is.

I have been at Livri. Ah, my dear child, how well did I
keep my word with you, and how many tender thoughts of
you filled my breast ! It was delightful weather, though very
cold ; but the sun shone finely, and every tree was hung with
pearls and crystals, that formed a pleasing diversity of colors.
I walked a great deal. The next day I dined at Pomponne.
It would not be an easy matter to recount all that passed dur-
ing a stay of five hours ; however, I was not at all tired with
my visit. Monsieur de Pomponne will be here in three or
four days. I should be very much vexed if I was obliged to
apply to him about your Provence affairs ; I am persuaded he
will not hear me. You see I give myself airs of knowledge.
But really nothing comes up to M. d'Usez ; I never saw a man
of better understanding, nor one more capable of giving sound
advice. I wait to see him, that I may inform you of what he
has done at St. Germain.

You desire me to write you long letters ; I think you have
now sufficient reason to be contented ; I am sometimes fright-
ened at the length of them myself; and were it not for your
agreeable flattery, I should never think of venturing them out
of my hands. Madame de Brissac is excellently provided for
the winter, in M. de Longueville and the Count de Guiche ;
'but nothing is meant but what is fair and honorable, only she
takes a pleasure in being adored. La Marans is never seen
now, either at Madame de la Fayette's or at M. de la Roche-
foucault's ; we can not find out what she is doing ; we are apt
to judge a little rashly now and then ; she took it into her
head this summer, that she should be ravished, as if she
wished it ; but I am of opinion that she is in no great dangu.
Good Heavens, what a mad creature she is, and how long have
I looked on her in the same light as you do now ! But now
let me tell you, my dear, it is not my fault that I do not see
Madame de la Valavoire.* I am sure there is no occasion to

* A lady of quality in Provence, who was just then come to Paris.

MADAME DE 6RIGNAN. 71

bid me go and see her, it is enough that she has seen you, hv
me to run after her ; but then she is running after somebody
else ; for I might forever desire her to wait at home for me ;
I can not get her to do me that favor. Your jest applies ad-
mirably to M. le Grand, and a very good one it is. Poor
Chatillon is every day teasing us with the most wretched ones
imaginable.

LETTER XXIV.

Paris, Wednesday, June 20, 1672.

I send you M. de Roehefoucault's Maxims, revised and cor-
rected, with additions ; it is a present to you from himself.
Some of them I can make shift to guess the meaning of ; but
there are others that, to my shame be it spoken, I can not un-
derstand at all. God knows how it will be with you. There
is a dispute between the archbishop of Paris and the arch-
bishop of Rheims about a point of ceremony : Paris will have
Rheims ask leave of him, as his superior, to officiate, which
Rheims will not consent to. It is said that these two right
reverends will never agree till they are thirty or forty leagues
asunder ; if that is the case, they are both of them likely to
continue as they are. The ceremony it relates to is the canon-
ization of one Borgia, a Jesuit. The whole opera band is to
exert itself on the occasion ; the streets will be illuminated,
even to the Rue St. Antoine ; the people are all mad about it :
old Merinville, however, has died without having seen it.

Do not deceive yourself, my child, by entertaining too good
an opinion of my letters- The other day an impertinent fel-
ling the monstrous length of a letter I was writing to
jou, asked me very seriously, if I thought any body could pos-
sibly read it all : I trembled at the thought of it, but without
any intention of amendment ; for the correspondence I have
with you is my existence, the sole pleasure of my life ; and
every other consideration is but mean, when put in competition

78 LETTERS TO

with it. I am uneasy about your brother ; poor fellow ! The
weather is very cold: he lies in camp, and is still on the
march to Cologne, for the Lord knows how long ! I was in
hopes of seeing him this winter, and see where he is now !
After all, I find little Mademoiselle Adhemar must be the com-
fort of my old age : I wish you could but see how fond she is
of me ; how she cries after me, and hangs about me. She is
not a beauty, but she is very pleasing — has a delightful voice,
and a skin as clear and white ... In short, I doat on her. You,
it seems, doat on your boy ; I am very glad of it ; we can not
have too many things to amuse us ; real or imaginary, it does
not signify.

To-morrow there is to be a ball at Madame's. I saw a heap
of jewels tossing about at mademoiselle's, which put me in mind
of past troubles : and yet, would to Heaven we were at the
same work again ! For how can I be unhappy while you
are with me ? Alas ! my whole life is one continued scene of
sorrow and disappointment. Dear Monsieur Nicole ! have
pity on me; and teach me to bear, with patience, the dispen-
sations of Providence. Farewell, my dearest child, I dare not
say I adore you ; but I can not conceive any degree of love
superior to mine : the kind and pleasing assurances you give
me of yours, at once lighten and increase my sorrows.

LETTER XXV.

Paris, "Wednesday, March 16, 16*72.
You talk to me of my departure : alas ! my dear, I languish
in the pleasing hope of it ; nothing now stops me, but my poor
aunt,* who is dying with violent pain and dropsy : it breaks
my heart to see her sufferings, and to hear the tender and
affecting manner in which she talks to me : her courage,
patience, and resignation, are all together admirable. M.
d'Hacqueville and I observe her distemper from day to day ;

* Henrietta de Coulanges, Marchioness de la Trousse.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 79

he sees my inmost heart, and knows what grief it is to me not
to be at liberty at present : I am entirely guided by him, and
we shall see, between this and Easter, whether her disorder
increases as much as it has done since I came hither ; if it
does, she will die in our arms ; but if she receives any relief,
and is likely to languish for any length of time, I shall then
set out as soon as M. de Coulanges comes back. Our poor
abbe is as vexed at this as myself ; but we shall be able to
judge how it will turn out by next month. I can think of
nothing else : yon can not wish to see me so much as I do to
embrace you ; so put some bounds to your ambition, and do
not hope ever to equal me in that respect.

My son tells me, they lead a wretched life in Germany, and
are working all in the dark. He was greatly concerned at the
death of the poor chevalier. You ask me if I am as fond of
life as ever : I must own to you that I experience mortifica-
tions, and severe ones too ; but I am still unhappy at the
thoughts of death : I consider it so great a misfortune to see
the termination of all my pursuits, that I should desire noth-
ing better, if it were practicable, than to begin life again. I
find myself engaged in a scene of confusion and trouble : I
was embarked in life without my own consent, and know
I must leave it again ; that distracts me : for how shall I
leave it ? in what manner ? by what door ? at what time ? in
what disposition ? Am I to suffer a thousand pains and tor-
ments that will make me die in a state of despair ? Shall I
lose my senses 1 Am I to die by some sudden accident ?
How shall I stand with God ? What shall I have to offer to
him ? Will fear and necessity make my peace with him ?
Shall I have no other sentiment, but that of fear ? What
T to hope ? Am I worthy of heaven ? or have I de-
„d the torments of hell ? Dreadful alternative ! Alarm-
ing uncertainty ! Can there be greater madness than to place
our eternal salvation in uncertainty ? Yet what is more natu-
ral, or can be more easily accounted for, than the foolish man-
ner in which I have spent my life ? I am frequently buried in

80 LETTERS TO

thoughts of this nature, and then death appears so dreadful
to me that I hate life more for leading me to it, than I do for
all the thorns that are strewed in its way. You will ask me
then, if I would wish to live forever ? Far from it ; but if I
had been consulted, I would veiy gladly have died in my
nurse's arms ; it would have spared me many vexations, and
would have insured heaven to me at a very easy rate : but let
us talk of something else.

I am quite provoked that you have received Bajazet from
any hand but mine ; that fellow Barbin* has served me this
trick, out of spite, because I do not write Princesses of Cleves
and Montpensier.f You form a very just and true judgment
of Bajazet, and you will find that I am of your opinion : I
wish I could send you Champmelee to enliven it a little. The
character of Bajazet wants life, and the manners of the Turks
are ill preserved : their marriages have less ceremony ; the
plot is badly managed ; and we are at a loss to account for so
much slaughter : the piece has doubtless its beauties ; but
there is nothing superlative ; nothing perfect ; none of those
fine strokes, that, like Corneille's, make one tremble. Let us
be cautious how we compare Racine with him ; the difference
between them is great : the pieces of the latter are in many
places cold and feeble ; nor will he ever be able to surpass
his Alexander and Andromache. Many persons consider Ba-
jazet as inferior to both these, and it is my opinion also, if
I may be allowed to give it. Racine's plays are written for
Champmelee, and not for posterity ;J whenever he grows old
and ceases to be in love, it will be seen whether I am mistaken
or not. Long live then our old friend Corneille ; let us forgive
the bad lines we occasionally meet with for the sake of those

* A famous bookseller of that name. "

f Two romances written by Madame de la Fayette, by which Barbut

got a great deal of money.

J The event has proved, by Mithridates, Phaedra, and Athaliah, that

Madame de Sevigne's judgment partook of the prejudice of the times

in which she wrote.

MADAME DE 6BIONAN. |gj)

divine sallies that so often transport us, those masterly strokes
that bid defiance to imitation. Despreaux has said as much
before me ; and it is in general the opinion of every one of
good taste ; let us therefore maintain it.

I send you a witticism of Madame de CornuePs, which has
highly diverted the crowd. Young M. Tombonneau has quit-
ted the long robe, and taken to the jacket and trowsers : in
short, he is resolved to go to sea ; I do not know in what way
the land has offended him ; however, somebody told Madame
de Cornuel that he was going to sea. " Lord bless the man !"
said she, "has he been bitten by a mad dog 2" As this was
said off hand, it raised a great laugh.

LETTER XXVI.

Paris, Wednesday, May 4, 1672.
It is impossible, my dear child, to tell you how much J
pity, how much I praise, and how much I admire you : thus I
divide my discourse into three heads. First, / pity you in
being so subject to the vapors and low spirits, as they will
certainly do you much harm. Secondly, I praise you for sub-
duing them when there is occasion, especially on M. de Grig-
nan's account, whom they must make very uneasy ; it is
a pleasing proof of the regard and consideration you have for
him. Thirdly and lastly, / admire you for suppressing your
natural inclination, to appear what you are not : this is really
heroic, and the fruit of your philosophy : you have ample
matter in yourself to call it into exercise. We were saying
the other day that there is no real evil in life, except great
pain ; all the rest is merely imaginary, and depends on the
light in which we view things. All o^her evils are curable
either by time, moderation in our wishes, or strength of mind ;
and may be lightened by reflection, religion, or philosophy.
But pain frrannizes over both soul and body. Confidence in

4*

82 LETTERS TO

God may indeed enable us to bear it witb patience, and turn
it to our advantage, but it will not diminish it.

This seems to savor of the Fauxbourg Saint Germain,* but
it comes from my poor aunt's apartment, where I was the
leader of the conversation. The subject arose naturally from
her extreme sufferings, which, she maintains, are infinitely su-
perior to every evil that life is subject to. M. de la Rochefou-
cault is of the same opinion : he is still tormented with the
gout ; he has lost his true mother,f and he lamented her
death so tenderly and affectionately that I almost adored
him : she was a woman of extraordinary merit, and was the
only person in the world, he said, who was unchangeable in
her love to him. Fail not to write to him ; both you and M.
de Grignan. M. de Rochefoucault's affection for his family is
unparalleled : he maintains that it is one of the chains that at-
tach us to one another. We have discovered, and related, and
reconciled many things relative to his foolish mother (Madame
de Marans), which explain to us clearly what you once said,
that it was not what we thought, but quite another thing ;
yes truly it was quite another thing, or perhaps better still, it
was this and that too; one was without prejudice to the
other ; she wedded the lute to the voice, and spiritual things
to coarseness and indelicacy. My child, we have found a
good vein, and one which explains the mystery of a quarrel
you once had in the council-chamber of Madame de la Fay-
ette. I will tell you the rest in Provence.

My aunt is in a state which does not seem likely to termi-
nate. Your journey is exceedingly well-timed, perhaps ours
may tally with it. We have a great desire to pass some part
of our Whitsuntide on the road, either at Moulins or at Ly-
ons. The abbe wishes it no less than myself. There is not a
man of quality (of the sword I mean) in Paris. I went on
Sunday to hear mass at the Minims. " We shall find our poor

* That is, from Madame de la Fayette, at whose house M. de Roche-
foucault, and some of the most select company in Paris, used to meet.
f G-abrielle du Plessis Liar.court.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 83

Minims quite deserted," said I to Mademoiselle de la Trousse,
" we shall not find a creature there, except the Marquis d'Al-
luye." * Well, we went into the church, where the first and
only creature we saw was the Marquis d'Alluye : I could not
help laughing till I fairly cried at the oddity of the thing ;
in short he is left behind, and is going to his government on
the sea-coast. The coast must be guarded, you know.

The lover of her whom you style the incomparable,] did not
meet her at the first stage, but on the road, in a house of
Sanguinis, a little beyond that which you know ; he remained
there two hours. It is thought he then saw the children for
the first time. The fair one stays there, attended by a guard
and a female friend ; she is to be there for four or ^ve months.
Madame de la Valliere is at St. Germains. Madame de Thi-
anges is here with her father ; I saw her daughter the other
day, she is beautiful beyond all imagination. Some people
pretend that the king went straight to Nanteuil, but it is cer-
tain that the fair one is at the house called Genitoi. I tell you
nothing but the truth ; there is nothing I have a greater aver-
sion and contempt for than idle stories.

You have taken your departure, then, my dear. Well, I
will live in the hope of hearing from you at every stage. I
shall not be behindhand on my side. I have managed so
well as to find a friend at the post-office, who is very careful
of our letters. I have for these several days past been occu-
pied in adorning my cottage ; Saint Aubin has effected won-
ders. I shall sleep there to-morrow. I swear to you that the
reason I like it so well is because it is intended for you. You
will be very well accommodated in my apartment, and I shall
not be less so. I will tell you bow charmingly every thing is
contrived. I am extremely uneasy about your poor brother ;
this terrible war makes us tremble for those we love ; when-
ever I think of it it fills me with horror ; but then, again, I

* Paul d'Escloubleau, Marquis d'AUuye and de Sourdis, governor of
the city and country of Orleans, and of the Pays Chartrain.
f The king and Madame de Montespan.

84 LETTERS TO

comfort myself with the thought that it may not be so had as
I apprehend, for I have remarked that things seldom happen
as we expect them to do.

Pray let me know what has happened between the Princess
Harcourt and you.* Brancas is dreadfully chagrined that
you do not love his daughter. M. d'Usez has promised to re-
establish peace between all parties : I should be glad to know
what has occasioned the coolness between you.

You tell me of your son, that his beauty grows less, and
his merit increases : I am sorry for the loss of his beauty, and
I am rejoiced to find that he loves wine ; this is a little spice
of Brittany and Burgundy together, which will produce a
charming effect with the prudence of the Grignans. As for
your daughter, she is quite the reverse ; her beauty increases,
and her merit lessens. I assure you, she is very pretty, but as
obstinate as a demon ; she has her little wills and little designs
of her own ; she diverts us extremely ; she has a beautiful
complexion, blue eyes, black hair, a nose neither handsome
nor ugly ; her chin, her cheeks, and the turn of her face are
faultless. I shall say nothing of her mouth, it will do very
well. She has a very sweet voice : Madame de Coulanges
thinks it suits her mouth admirably.

• I fancy, my dear child, that I shall at last be a convert to
your opinion. I meet with vexations in life that are insup-
portable, and find, notwithstanding my fine reasoning at the
beginning of this letter, there are many evils which, though
less severe than bodily pain, are nevertheless equally to be
dreaded.

LETTER XXVII.

Paris, Friday, May 30, 1672.
I had no letter from you yesterday, my poor child. Your
journey to Manaco had put you quite out of sorts. I was

* Frances de Brancas, wife of Alphonso Henry Chartres, of Lorrain,

MADAME DEGRIGNAN. 85

afraid some little disaster of this kind would befall me. I now
send you news from M. de Pomponne ; the fashion of being
wounded is already begun ; my heart is very heavy with the
fears of this campaign. My son writes by every opportunity ;
he is at present in good health.

My aunt is still in a deplorable state, and yet we have the
courage to think of appointing a day for our departure, as-
suming a hope which in reality we can not entertain. I can
not help thinking that many of the events of life are ill-ar-
ranged ; they are, as it were, rugged stones lying aoross our
way, .too unwieldy to be removed, and which we must get
over as well as we can, though not without pain and difficulty.
Is not the comparison just ? I shall not bring my little girl
with me ; she goes on very well at Livri, and is to stay there
during the summer. You never saw Livri in such perfection
as it is at present ; the trees are beautifully green, and the
honeysuckles are every where in profusion. I am not yet
tired of their perfume. But you despise our shrubberies since
you have been accustomed to your groves of orange-trees.

I have a very tragical history to communicate to you from
Livri. Do you remember that pretended devotee, who walked
so steadily without turning his head that you would have
thought he was carrying a glass of water upon it ? His devo-
tion has turned his brain. One night he gave himself five or
six stabs with a knife, and fell on his knees in his cell, naked,
and weltering in his blood. On entering, he was found in this
posture. " Good God ! brother, what have you done ? Who
has treated you thus V He replied, very calmly, " Father, I
am doing penance." He fainted away ; he was put to bed ;
his wounds, which were found very dangerous, were dressed ;
with uncommon care and attention he recovered at the end of
three months, and was sent back to his friends.

If you do not think such a head sufficiently disordered, tell

Prince of Harcourt, and daughter of Charles de Brancas, gentleman
of honor to Queen Anne of Austria.

86 LETTERS TO

me so, and you shall have the story of Madame Paul,* who
is fallen desperately in love with a great booby of five or six
and twenty, whom she had taken to be her gardener. The
lady has managed her affairs admirably ; she has married him.
The fellow is a mere brute, and has not common sense ; he
will beat her soon, he has already threatened to do it ; no
matter, she was resolved to have him. I have never seen
such violent love ; there is all the extravagance of sentiments
imaginable, were they but rightly applied ; but they are like
a rough sketch of an ill painting ; all the colors are there,
they want only to be properly disposed. It is extremely
amusing to me to meditate on the caprices of love. I feel
frightened for myself when I see such things ! What insolence,
to attack Mme. Paul — that is to say, austere, old, straight-
laced virtue herself!

LETTER XXVIII.

Paris, Monday, June 20, 1672.
I can not reflect upon the situation you have been in, with-
out great emotion ; and though I know you are out of dan-
ger, yet I can not turn my eyes on what has passed without
a horror that distracts me. Alas, how much was I in the
dark about a health that was so dear to me ! If any one had
told me that my daughter was in greater danger than if she
had been in the army, how little should I have believed it !
Must I suffer this useless grief in addition to so many other
sorrows that afflict my heart ? The extreme danger my sou
is in ; the war, which rages every day with greater violence ;
the couriers, who bring no other news but the death of some
friend or acquaintance, and may bring accounts more fatal ;
the fear of hearing ill news, and yet the curiosity of knowing
it ; the desolation of those who are in excess of grief, and with
whom I pass a great part of my time ; the strange state of
health my aunt is in, and my extreme desire of seeing you ;

* Widow to the gardener at Livri.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN, 87

all this afflicts and consumes me, and forces me to lead a life
so contrary to my inclination, that I have need of more than
a common share of health to support it.

You have nevar seen Paris as it is at present ; all the world
is in tears, or fears to be so. Poor Madame de Nogent is
almost beside herself. Madame de Longueville pierces every
heart with her complaints. I have not seen her indeed, but
this is what I am told. Mademoiselle de Vertus returned two
days since from Port-Royal, where she resides. They sent for
her and M. Arnauld, to impart to Madame de Longueville the
terrible news. The very sight of Mademoiselle de Vertus was
sufficient ; her sudden return was too sure a sign that some
fatal accident had happened. As soon therefore as she ap-
peared— " Ah ! mademoiselle, how is it with my brother ?"*
She did not dare, even in thought, to inquire further. " Ma-
dam, he is recovered of his wound — there has been a battle — "
"And my son?" No answer was made. "Ah! mademoi-
selle, my son, my dear child ! answer me ; is he dead ?" " I
have no words to answer you, madam." " Oh, my dear son !
Was he killed on the spot ? Had he not a single moment ?
Ob, God ! what a sacrifice is this !" And she threw herself
upon the bed, and by expressions of the most lively sorrow, by
fainting-fits, by convulsions, by the silence of despair, by
stifled cries, by sudden bursts of passion, by floods of bitter
tears, by eyes uplifted to heaven, and by heart-rending com-
plaints, she exhibited all the various emotions of grief. She
sees a few friends ; and, in pure submission to Providence,
consents to receive such nourishment as is just sufficient to
keep life and soul together. She takes no rest ; her health,
before in a declining state, is visibly altered for the worse.
For my part, I wish her death earnestly, as I can not think she
can survive such a loss. There is a certain gentlemanf who
is scarcely less affected. I can not help thinking, that if they
had met, in the first moments of their grief, and had been
alone together, all other sentiments would have given place

* The Prince of Conde*. f M. de la Rochefoucault.

88 LETTERS TO

to sighs and tears, redoubled without intermission; there
would have been a dumb scene of sorrow, a dialogue of inar-
ticulate sighs and groans. This is a mere thought of my own.
But, my dear, how great affliction is this ! The very mis-
tresses of poor De Longueville do not constrain themselves ;
his domestics are disconsolate ; and his gentleman, who came
yesterday with the ill news, scarcely appears a reasonable crea-
ture. This death effaces the thoughts of all others.

A courier, who arrived yesterday evening, brings an account
of the death of the Count du Plessis,* who was killed by a
cannon-shot, as he was giving directions for making a bridge.
Arnheim is besieged by M. Turenne. They did not attack
the fort of Skeing, as it was defended by eight thousand men.
Alas! these successful beginnings will be followed with a
tragical end for a great number of families. May Heaven pre-
serve my poor son ! He was not upon this expedition ; but
the campaign is not yet finished.

In the midst of our afflictions, the description you have
given me of Madame Colonna and her sister,f is really divine ;
it rouses one under the most melancholy circumstances. It is
an admirable picture. The Countess de Soissons, and Ma-
dame de Bouillon,J are quite in a rage with these fools, and
say they ought to be confined. It is thought that the king
will not disoblige the constable§ (Colonna), who is certainly
one of the greatest men in Rome. In the mean time we are
in expectation of seeing them arrive here like Mademoiselle de
l'Etoile ;|| this comparison is good.

The accounts I send you are from the best authority ; you
will find by all you receive, that M. de Longueville has been
the cause of his own death, as well as of the death of many

* Alexander de Choiseul, Count du Plessis, son of Caesar de Choiseul,
Marshal of France.

f Hortensia Mancini, Duchess of Mazarin.

J Sisters to Mesdames de Colonna and Mazarin.

§ The father of these ladies, and of one of the most powerful families
in Rome. | In Scarron's comic romance.

MADAME DEGRIGNAN. 89

others ; and that the prince has showed himself, through the
whole of this expedition, more like a father than the general
of an army. I said yesterday, and others agreed with me,
that if the war continues, the duke* will certainly occasion the
death of the prince. His love for him surpasses every other
consideration.

La Marans affects to appear overwhelmed with grief. She
says that she sees very plainly there is something in the news
from the army which is concealed from her ; and that the
prince and the duke are dead, as well as M. de Longueville.
She conjures people, by all that is sacred, to speak out, and
not to spare her ; and tells them, that in her deplorable situa-
tion, it is in vain to hide any thing from her. If it were pos-
sible to laugh under these circumstances, we should laugh at
her. Alas ! if she knew how little any of us think of con-
cealing any thing from her, and how much every one is taken
up with his own griefs and his own fears, she would not have
the vanity to believe we paid so much attention to her as to
deceive her.

The news I send you comes, as I before said, from good
authority ; I had it from Gourville, who was with Madame de
Longueville when she heard of her son's death. All the
couriers come straight to him. M. de Longueville had made
his will before he set out. He leaves a great part of his prop-
erty to a son he has, who, as I believe, will take the title of
Chevalier d'Orleans,f without expense to his relations. Have
you heard how the body of M. de Longueville was disposed
of? It was laid in the same boat in which he passed the
river two hours before. The prince, who was wounded, ordered
him to be placed near him, covered with a cloak, and, with
several others who were wounded, repassed the Rhine to a
town on this side of the river, where they came to have their

* Henry Juliers de Bourbon, son of the prince.

t He appeared under the name of the Chevalier de Longueville, and
was accidentally killed at Philipsbourg in 1688, by a soldier, who was
shooting at a snipe. See the letter of the 8th of July following

90 LETTERS TO

wounds dressed. It was the most melancholy sight in the
world. They say the Chevalier de Monchevreuil, who was at-
tached to M. de Longueville, will not have a wound dressed
which he received as he stood next to him.

I have received a letter from my son : he is very much
grieved at the death of M. de Longueville. He was not in
this expedition, but he is to be in another. What safety can
be hoped for in such a profession ? I advise you to write to
M. de la Rochefoucault, on the death of the chevalier, and the
wound of M. de Marsillac. This fatal event has given me an
opportunity of seeing his heart .without disguise: for con-
stancy, worth, tenderness, and good sense, he infinitely sur-
passes any one I have ever met with ; his wit and humor are
nothing in comparison. I will not amuse myself at presert
with telling you how much I love you. I embrace M. •' *,
Grignan, and the coadjutor.

The same evening, at 10 o'clock.
I made up my packet two hours ago, and on my return to
town I found a letter for me, with the news that a peace was
concluded with Holland. It may easily be imagined that th(
Dutch are in the greatest consternation, and glad to submit tc
any terms ; the king's success is beyond all that has ever been
known. We shall once more breathe again ; but what i
cruel addition must this be to the grief of Madame de Longue*
ville, and all those who have lost children and near relations 1
I have seen Marshal du Plessis ; he is greatly afflicted, but de-
means himself like a brave soldier. His lady* weeps bitterly ;
the countessf is only disconcerted at not being a duchess. I
think, my dear child, that if it had not been for the rashness
of M. de Longueville, we should have gained Holland without
losing a man.

* Columba de Charron.

f Maria Louisa le Loup de Bellenave.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 91

LETTER XXIX.

Paris, Friday, Bee. 8, 1673.
I must begin, my dear child, by telling you of the death of
the Count de Guiche : this is the chief subject of conversation
at present. The poor youth died of sickness and fatigue in
M. de Turenne's army ; the news came on Tuesday morning.
Father Bourdaloiie went to acquaint the Marshal de Gram-
mont with it ; who feared it the moment he saw him, know-
ing the declining state of his son. He made every one go out
of his chamber, which was a little apartment near the convent
of the Capuchins, and as soon as he found himself alone with
Bourdaloiie, he threw himself upon his neck, saying, that he
guessed but too well what he had to tell him ; that it was his
death-stroke, and that he received it as such from the hand
of God ; that he lost the true, the only object of his tender-
ness and natural affection ; that he had never experienced any
real joy, or violent grief, but through his son, who was not a
common character. He threw himself on a bed, unable to
support his grief, but without weeping, for this is a situation
that denies the relief of tears. Bourdaloiie wept, but had not
yet spoken a word. At last he began to comfort him with
religious discourse, in which he employed his well-known zeal
and eloquence. They were six hours together ; after which
Bourdaloiie, to induce him to make a complete sacrifice, led
him to the church of these good Capuchins, where vigils were
said for his son. He entered the church fainting and trem-
bling, supported more by the crowd that pressed round him
on every side, than by his feet ; his face was so much disfig-
ured with grief, that he could scarcely be known. The duke
saw him in this lamentable condition, and related it to us at
Madame de la Fayette's, with tears. The poor marshal re-
turned at last to his little apartment, where he remains like a
man under sentence of death. The king has written to him.
No one is admitted to see him. Madame de Monaco* is in-

* Catherine Charlotte de G-rammonl sister to the Count de Guiche.

92 LETTERS TO

consolable, and refuses to see company. Madame de Lou*
vigny* is likewise incapable of receiving comfort ; but it is
only because sbe is not at all grieved. Do not you wonder at
her good fortune ? She is in a moment become Duchess of
Grammont. The chancellor's ladyf is transported with joy:
the Countess de Guiche J behaves admirably well ; she weeps
when they tell her all the kind things her husband said, and
the excuses he made to her when he was dying. " He was a
very amiable man," she says ; " I should have loved him pas-
sionately, if he had loved me in the slightest degree ; I suf-
fered his contempt with grief, and his death affects me with
pity ; I always hoped he would change his sentiments with
regard to me." This is certainly true ; there is not the least
fiction in it. Madame de Verneuil§ feels real concern on this
occasion. I believe it will be sufficient, if you only desire me
to make your compliments to her ; so you need only write to
the Countess de Guiche, to Madame de Monaco, and Madame
de Louvigny. The good D'Hacqueville has been desired to go
to Frase, thirty leagues from hence, to tell the news to Ma-
dame de Grammont, and to carry her a letter written by the
poor youth a little before he died. He made a full confession
of the faults of his past life, asked pardon publicly, and sent to
tell Vardes a great many things which may benefit him. In
a word, he ended the comedy well, and has left a rich and a
happy widow. || The chancellor's lady is so fully sensible, she

* Maria Charlotte de Castelnau, sisteivin4aw to the Count.

f Relict of the late Chancellor Seguier, and grandmother to tha
Countess de Guiche.

} Margaret Louisa Susan de Bethune Sulli.

§ Charlotte de Seguier, mother to the Countess de Guiche : she first
married the Duke de Sulli, and afterward Henry de Bourbon, Duke de
Verneuil.

| She was married afterward to the Duke de Lude, in 1688. The
Count de Guiche had been the lover of Henrietta of England. He
also entered into the intrigues of M. de Yardes. He had made a bril-
liant campaign in Poland, and to him was owed the passage of the
Rhine. He was as handsome and witty as he was brave.

MADAME DEGRIGNAN. 93

says, of the little happiness this poor lady must have had in
her marriage, that she thinks of nothing but repairing this
misfortune. We are at a loss for a proper match for her.
You will perhaps name for her M. de Marsillac, as we did ;
but they do not like each other : the other dukes are too
young. M. de Foix is destined for Mademoiselle de Roque-
laure. Think a little for us, for the affair is pressing. I have
sent you, my dear child, a tedious account, but you sometimes
tell me you like minuteness.

LETTER XXX.

Paris, Monday, Dec. 11, 1673.

I am just returned from St. Germain, where I have been
two whole days with Madame de Coulanges at M. de la Roche-
foucault's. In the evening we went to pay our court to the
queen, who said a thousand obliging things to me of you ; but
if I were to enumerate all the how-d' ye-do's and compliments
that I had, both from men and women, old and young, who
crowd about me to inquire after you, I should have to name
the whole court. " And how does Madame de Grignan do ?
and when will she return ?" and so on. In short, only figure
me to yourself in the midst of a crowd of idle people, who,
having nothing else to do, would every one ask me some ques-
tion, so that I was frequently obliged to answer twenty at
once. I dined with Madame de Louvois : it was who should
be the first to invite me. I would have returned yesterday,
but we were stopped by force to sup with M. Marsillac in his
enchanted apartments with Madame de Thianges, Madame
Scarron, the duke, M. de la Rochefoucault, M. de Vivonne,
and a band of heavenly music. This morning, with much ado,
we got away.

A quarrel of a singular nature is the news of the day at
St. Germain. The Chevalier de Vendome, and M. de Vivonne
are the humble servants of Madame de Ludre. The chevalier

94 LETTERS TO

expressed a wish of compelling M. de Vivonne to res gn his
pretensions. But on what grounds ? he was asked. Why, he
would fight M. de Vivonne. They laughed at him. It was,
however, no joke, he said, he would fight him ; and he mounted
his horse to take the field. But the best of the story was Vi-
vonne's reply to the person who brought him the challenge.
He was confined to his room by a wound in his arm, and, re-
ceiving the condolence of the whole court, ignorant of the
threat of his rival : " I, gentlemen," said he, " I fight ! He
may fight if he pleases, but I defy him to make me fight. Let
him get his shoulder broken, let the surgeon make twenty in-
cisions in his arm, and then " — it was thought he was going
to say, we will fight — " and then," said he, " perhaps we may
be friends. But the man must be jesting to think of firing at
me ! A pretty project, truly ! He might as well fire at the
door of a house.* I repent, however, having saved his life in
crossing the Rhine, and will do no more such generous actions
till I have the nativity cast of those I intend to assist. Would
any one have thought, when I was remounting this fellow on
his horse, that a few weeks afterward .he would want to shoot
me through the head for my kindness ?" This speech, from
the tone and manner in which it was delivered, had so droll
an effect, that nothing else is talked of at St. Germain.

I found your siege of Orange very much magnified at court.
The king had spoken of it very agreeably, and it was thought
highly honorable to M. de Grignan, that, without the king's
order, and merely to follow him, seven hundred gentlemen
should have assembled upon the occasion ; for the king having
said seven hundred, every one else said seven hundred ; it was
added, with a laugh, that two hundred litters also followed
him. But it is thought, seriously, that few governors could
have obtained such a retinue.

I have had two hours' conversation at two different times
with M. de Pomponne. He exceeds my most sanguine hopes.
Mademoiselle de Lavocat is in our confidence : she is a very

* M. de Yivonne was remarkably corpulent

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 95

amiable girl. She knows all our affairs — the business of the
syndic, of the procurator, our gratuity, opposition, deliberation,
etc., as well as she does the map of the empire and the interest
of princes ; that is, she has them at her ringer's end. We call
her the little minister. We have interludes in our conversa-
tion, which M. de Pomponne calls flashes of rhetoric to secure
the good humor of the audience. There are some points in
your letters I can not reply to ; we often answer ridiculously
when we write from such a distance. You know how grieved
we once were at the loss of some town, when they had been
rejoicing for ten days at Paris because the Prince of Orange
had raised the siege ; but this is one of the evils of distance.
Adieu, my beloved child ; I embrace you very affectionately.

LETTER XXXI.

Paris, Friday, Dec. 22, 1673.

A piece of political news is just come into my head, and,
contrary to my custom, I shall give it you. You know the
King of Poland* is dead. The grand "marshal,f the husband
of Mademoiselle d'Arquien, is at the Itead of an army against
the Turks ; he has lately gained so complete a victory over them,
that fifteen thousand were left dead on the field of battle, two
bashaws are taken prisoners, and he himself occupies their
general's tent. After so distinguished a victory, it is not in the
least doubted that he will be declared king, especially as he
is at the head of such an army, and that fortune generally
declares in favor of numerous battalions. This piece of news
has given me pleasure.

I never now see the Chevalier de Buous. He is enraged at

* Michael Koribert Wiesnowieski, who died November 1613.

f John Sobieski, elected King of Poland, May 20, 1674. He mar-
ried the grand-daughter of Marshal d'Arquien, who, after his death,
returned to France. The victory Sobieski gained in 1685, under the
walls of Vienna, and which saved the emperor and the empire, is still
more celebrated than that which is here spoken of.

96 LETTERS TO

not being made a chef (Pescadre.* He is at St. Germain, and
I am in hopes he will manage his affairs so well as to ob-
tain his desire at last : I sincerely wish it. The Archbishop
(of Aries) has written to assure me of the joy the affair of
Orange has given him, and that he hopes that of the Syndi-
cate will end no less happily. He finds himself obliged to
own, by the event, that your vigor was of more service than
his prudence, and that from your example he is become a per
feet bravo. This has rejoiced me exceedingly.

And now, my dear child, when I picture you to myself, pale
and thin, when I think of the agitations you endure, and that
the slightest degree of fever endangers your life, I suffer night
and day from apprehensions for you. What happiness would it
be to have you with me, in a less destructive climate, in your
native air, which would again restore you to health and vigor !
I am surprised that loving you as the Provencals do, they do
not urge this remedy to you. I consider you as having been
so useful till now, and as having relieved M. de Grignan so
much in all his affairs, that I dare not regret I did not bring
you with me ; but when every thing is finished, why not give
me this satisfaction ? Adieu, my dearest child, I am very im-
patient to hear from you. You would throw yourself into the
fire, you say, to convince me of your love : my child, I have
no doubt of your affection, and without this extraordinary
proof of it, you may give me a much more pleasing and a
much more convincing one.

LETTER XXXn.

Paris, Friday, December 29, 1673.
• M. de Luxembourg is a little pressed near Maestricht, by
the army of M. de Montereif and the Prince of Orange ; he
dares not venture to remove his camp, and he must perish

* A rank somewhat inferior to that of rear-admiral.
f Governor of the Spanish Low Countries.

MADAME DE ORIGNAN. 97

where he is, unless they send him speedy and effectual succor
The prince is to set out four days hence with the duke and
M. de Turenne ; the latter is to serve under the two princes,
and there is a perfectly good understanding between the
three. They have twenty thousand foot, and ten thousand
horse ; the volunteers and those companies which are not to
march, do not go, but all the rest do. La Trousse and my
son, who arrived here yesterday, are to be of the number ;
they have scarcely had time to pull off their boots before they
are in the mud again. The rendezvous is appointed at Char-
leroi, on the 16 th of January. D'Hacqueville has written you
word of this, but you will read it more distinctly in my letter.*
It is certainly very important news, and has occasioned a great
bustle every where. We know not what to do for money. It
is certain M. de Turenne is not on terms with M. de Louvois,
but it is not generally known ; and while he continues to
keep in with M. Colbert, there will be nothing said about it.
This afternoon I had some great folks with me, who desired
their compliments to M. de Grignan, and to Grignan's wife.
They were the grand-master, and the charmer. \ I had be-
sides, Brancas, the Archbishop of Rheirns, Charot, La Trousse,
etc., who all in like manner desired to be remembered to you.
They talk of nothing but war. The charmer knows all our
affairs, and enters admirably into our little perplexities. He
is governor of a province, which is sufficient to give him an
idea of our feelings on those subjects. Adieu, my dearest
child. I participate in all the joys of your conquests.

LETTER XXXIII.

Paris, Monday, New Tear's Day, 1674
I wish you a happy year, my child ; and in this wish I com-
prehend so many things, that I should never have done if I

* M. d'Hacqueville wrote a hand very difficult to be read.
\ The Count de Lude and the Duke de Yilleroi.

5

98 LETTERS TO

were to enumerate them. I have not yet asked leave ior you
to return to Paris, as you feared ; but I wish you had heard
what La Garde said of the necessity of your coming hither,
that you may not lose your five thousand francs, and of what
he thinks proper for M. de Grignan to say to the king. If it
were a suit which you were obliged to solicit against any one
who designed to injure you, you would doubtless come to so-
licit it ; but as it is to come to a place where you have a
thousand other affairs, you are both guilty of the greatest in-
dolence. Ah, what an enchanting thing is indolence ! you
feel its power too much ; read La Garde upon this subject,
chapter the first. Consider, in the mean time, that you would
have the pleasure of seeing the king, and receiving his appro-
bation.

The edicts are revoked which gave us so much uneasiness
in our province. The day that M. de Ghaulnes declared it to
the States, there was a cry of " Long live the king !" whioh.
made every one present weep for joy. They embraced each
other, broke out into the highest expressions of rapture, or-
dered Te Deum to be sung, made bonfires ; and the thanks of
the public were given to M. de Chaulnes. But do you know
what we are to give the king as a mark of our gratitude ? six
hundred thousand livres, and as much more by way of a vol-
untary gratuity. What think you of this little sum ? You
may judge by this of the favor that has been done us, in tak-
ing off the burden of these edicts.

My poor son has arrived here, as you know ; he is to return
on Thursday, with many others. M. de Monterei is a very
clever fellow ; he disturbs the whole world, he fatigues the
army, and puts it out of condition to take the field, and begin
the campaign, till the end of the spring. The troops were all at
ease in winter-quarters ; and when, after a tedious march, they
are arrived at Charleroi, he has only a single step to take to
make good his retreat — till when, M. de Luxembourg can not
be extiicated. By appearances, the king will not set out so
soon as he did last year. If, when in the field, we had to

MADAME DE 6RIGNAN. 99

mate an attack on some great town, or the enemy would
come out and oppose our two heroes, as we should probably
beat him, peace might almost be depended upon. This is
what is said by persons of the profession. It is certain that
M. de Turenne is out of favor with M. de Louvois ; but as he
is in favor with the king and M. Colbert, it has not made
much noise.

Five ladies of the palace are appointed : Madame de Sou-
bise, Madame de Chevreuse, the Princess d'Harcourt, Madame
d'Albret, and Madame de Eochefort. The maids of honor are
to serve no more, and Madame de Richelieu as a lady of
honor, is also discharged. There are to be only the gentle-
men in waiting, and the maitres-d'hotel, as formerly. But
that the queen may not be without women, Madame de
Richelieu and four other ladies are to wait constantly behind
her chair. Brancas is in raptures that his daughter* is so well
provided for.

The Grand Marshal of Poland has sent a letter to the king,
in which he tells his majesty, that if he has any person in
view to raise to the crown of Poland, he will assist him with
all the forces under his command ; and if not, requests his
protection and assistance for himself. The king has promised
it to him. However^ it is imagined he will not get himself
elected, because he is not of the established religion of the
nation.

LETTER XXXIV.

Paris, Friday, Jan. 5, 1674.
It is a year ago this very day since we supped with the
archbishop : at this moment perhaps you are supping with the
intendant : I am afraid, my dear child, your mirth is feigned.
All you say on this subject to me, and to Corbinelli, is admi-
rable. My heart thanks you for the good opinion you hav/»

* The Princess d'Harcourt.

100 LETTERS TO

of me, in believing I hold in abhorrence all villainous proceed-
ings. You are not deceived.

M. de Grignan tells you true ; Madame de Thiange has left
off paint, and covers her neck ; you would hardly know hei
in this disguise. She is frequently with Madame de Longue-
ville, and is the very pink of modish devotion. But she is
still good company, and has not at all the air of a recluse.
I dined with her the other day ; a servant brought her a glass
of liquor ; she turned to me and said, " The fellow does not
know that I am become a devotee ;" this made us all laugh.
She spoke very naturally of her intentions, and of her change.
She is very cautious of saying any thing that may injure the
reputation of her neighbor, and stops short when any thing oi
that nature escapes her ; for my part, I think her more agree-
able than ever. Wagers are laid that the Princess d'Har-
court will not turn nun these twelve months, now she is be-
come a lady of the palace, and paints again : this rouge is the
law and the prophets ; it, is the great point that our new de-
votion turns upon. As for the Duchess d'Aumont, her taste
is burying the dead.* They say the Duchess de Charost kills
people for her, with ill-compounded medicines, and then buries
them in a religious retreat. The Marchioness d'Huxelles is
very good ; but La Marans is more than good. Madame de
Schomberg tells me very seriously that she is of the first
order for seclusion and penitence, not admitting any society,
and refusing even the amusements of devotion ; in a word,
she is a penitent in the true sense of the word, and in all the
simplicity of the primitive church.

The ladies of the palace are kept in great subjection. The
king has explained himself upon this subject, and will have
the queen always attended by them. Madame de Eichelieu,

* If we may believe Bussy, she rendered a service of a different kind
to the living. The Duchess of Charost was the daughter of the Super-
intendent Fouquet. She apparently had her recipe from her grand-
n ;ther, by whom we have a printed collection in two volumes, under
ie title of Family Recipes by Madame Fouquet.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 101

though she does not serve any longer at table, is always pres-
ent when the queen dines, with four ladies, who wait by turns.
The Countess d'Ayen* is the sixth : she does not like the con-
finement of this attendance, and of being constantly at ves-
pers, sermons, and other religious ceremonies ; but there is no
perfect happiness in this world. The Marchioness de Castel-
nau is fair, blooming, and perfectly recovered from her grief.
I? Eclair, they say, has only changed her apartment at court,
not very much to her satisfaction. Madame de Louvigny does
not seem sufficiently delighted at her good fortune. She is
thought unpardonable for not adoring her husband in the
same manner as when she was first married ; this is the first
time the public was ever offended at a thing of this nature.
Madame de Brissac is beautiful, and follows the Princess of
Conti like her shadow. La Coetquen is still the same as ever.
She has a petticoat of black velvet, embroidered with gold and
silver, and a brocade cloak. This dress cost her an immense
sum ; and when she thought she made the most splendid fig-
ure imaginable, every one said she was dressed like an actress ;
and she has been so much rallied in consequence, that she has
thrown it aside. La Manierosaf is a little vexed at not being
a lady of the palace. Madame de Duras, who would not ac-
cept this honor, laughs at her. La Troche is, as usual, very
much interested in your affairs ; but I can not express how
strongly Madame de la Fayette and M. de la Rochefoucault
have your interest at heart.

Madame de la Fayette and I went to see M. de Turenne a
few days ago ; he has a slight fit of the gout. He received
us with great civility, and talked much of you. The Cheva-
lier de Grignan has given him an account of your victories ;
he would have offered you his sword if there had been any
occasion for it. He intends to set out in three days. My son
went yesterday very much out of humor : I was not less so,
at this ill-judged and in every respect disagreeable journey.

* A feigned name.

f Mary Frances de Bournouville, afterward Marchioness de Noaillea

102 LETTERS TO

The dauphin saw Madame Schomberg the other day ; they
told him his grandfather had been in love with her : he asked
in a whisper, " How many children has she had by him ?"
They informed him of the manners* of that time.

The Duke du Mainef has been seen at court, but he has not
yet visited the queen : he was in a coach, and saw only his
father and mother.

The Chevalier de Chatillon has no longer any thing to seek
for ; his fortune is made. Monsieur chose rather to give him
the- office of captain of his guards, than Mademoiselle de
Grancey that of lady of the wardrobe. This young man
therefore has the post of Vaillac, and is well provided for :
they say Vaillac is to have D'Albon's, and that D'Albon is dis-
carded. I told you how our States ended, and that they re-
purchased the edicts at two millions six hundred thousand
livres, and gave the same sum as a gratuitous gift, making to-
gether ^ve million two hundred thousand livres ; that the air
was rent with cries of " Long live the king !" that we had
bonfires, and sung Te Deum, because his majesty was kind
enough to accept it. Poor Sanzei is ill with the measles ; it is
a disorder that soon passes, but is alarming from its violence.

I see no reason to ask the king's pardon for the humane
gentleman who was guilty of assassination ; the crime is of
too black a nature. The criminals who were pardoned at
Rouen were not of this stamp ; it is the only crime the king
refuses to pardon. So Beavron has mentioned it to the Abbe
de Grignan.

* Madame de Schomberg who is here spoken of, mother of the mar-
shal then living, captivated Louis XIII. when she was only a maid of
honor, by the name of Mademoiselle d'Hautefort. The king's gal-
lantry exacted so little, that she even jested upon the subject, and said
he talked to her of nothing but dogs, horses, and hunting. She was
handsome and discreet. She attached herself to Queen Anne of Aus-
tria, and shared her disgrace during the life of Louis XIII. She after-
ward quarreled with her during the regency, for having spoken too
freely against Cardinal Mazarin.

f The king's eldest son by Madame de Montespan.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 103

I have heard the ladies at the palace spoken of in a way
that made me laugh. I said with Montaigne, " Let us avenge
ourselves, by slandering them." It is, however, true that they
are under extreme subjection.

The report still prevails, that the prince sets out on Monday.
The same day M. de Saint Luc is to espouse Mademoiselle de
Pompadour ; about this I am quite indifferent.

Adieu, my dear ; this letter is growing too long ; I conclude
it for no other reason but because every thing must have an
end. I embrace Grignan, and beg him to forgive me for
opening Madame de Guise's letter ; I was very desirous to see
her style ; my curiosity is satisfied forever.

Guilleragues said yesterday, that Pelisson^
mission men have to be ugly.*

LETTER XXXV.

Paris, Friday,

Well, your peace is then concluded at last. The Archbishop
of Rheims and Brancas received their letters before I did
mine ; M. de Pomponne sent to inform me of this important
event from St. Germain ; I was ignorant, however, of the par-
ticulars, but now I know all. I advise you, my child, to reg-
ulate your conduct by circumstances ; and since it is the king's
will that you should be friendly with the bishop,f endeavor to
obey him. But to return to St. Germain : I was there three
days ago ; I went first to M. de Pomponne's, who had not yet
applied for your leave of absence, but is to send for it to-day
From thence we went to the queen's ; I was with Madame de
Chaulnes ; there was nobody to talk but me, and you may be
sure I was not deficient. The queen said without hesitation
that you had been absent for more than three years, and that

* An expression that is become common, but which was new at
that time, or it would not have been worth noticing.
f Of Marseilles.

104 LETTERS TO

it was time for your return. From court we went to Madame
de Colbert's, who is extremely civil and well bred. Mademoi-
selle de Blois* danced ; she is very pleasing and graceful.
Desairs says she is the only one who reminds him of you : he
asked me what I thought of her dancing, for my applause was
required, and I gave it with the greatest readiness. The
Duchess de la Valliere was there ; she calls her little daughter
mademoiselle, and the young princess in return calls her pretty
mamma. M. de Vermandois was there too. No other chil-
dren have yet made their appearance. We afterward went
to pay our respects to monsieur and madame ; the former has
not forgotten you, and I never fail to present your dutiful ac-
knowledgments to him. I met Vivonne there, who accosted
me with, " Little mamma, I beg you will embrace the Gov-
ernor of Champagne"! — " And pray who is he ?" said I. —
" Myself," replied he. — " You !" said I ; " pray who told you
so ?" — " The king has just informed me of it." I instantly con-
gratulated him. The Countess de Soissons was in hopes of
getting this post for her son.

There is no talk of taking the seals from the chancellor ;J
the good man was so surprised at this additional honor, that
he began to fear a snake in the grass, and could not compre-
hend the reason of being thus loaded with dignities : " Sire,"
said he to the king, " does your majesty intend to take the
seals from me ?" — " No, no, chancellor," replied the king, " go,
sleep in peace." And, indeed, they say he is almost always
asleep ; there are many wise conjectures on the subject, and
people can not understand the reason of this augmentation of
favors.

The prince set out the day before yesterday, and M. de
Turenne is to follow to-day. Write to Brancas to congratulate

* She had been educated by Madame Colbert.

jf This government was vacated by the death of Eugene Maurice, oi
Saxony, Count de Soissons, which happened June 7, 1673.

{ Stephen d'Aligre was keeper of the seals in 1672, upon the death
of Chancellor Seguier, who was made Chancellor of France in 1674.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN, 105

him on his daughter's being in the queen's household, for he
is very proud of it. La Troche returns you many thanks for
your kind remembrance of her. Her son has still nose enough
to lose half of it at the next siege, without the loss being very
apparent. It is said that the Dew* begins to be less friendly
with the Torrent, and that after the siege of Maastricht, they
entered into a league of mutual confidence, and saw the Fire
and the Snow every day of their lives. You know all this
could not last long without occasioning great tumult, nor with-
out being discovered. The Hail\ seems to me, with respect
to the reconciliation between you and him, like a man who
goes to confession, and keeps one great sin upon his conscience
— by what other name can you call the trick he has played
you ? Still the wise heads say you must speak, you must ask,
you have time, and that is sufficient ; but do not wonder at
the faggoting of my letters. I leave one subject, you think I
have done with it, and suddenly I resume it again, versi sciolti.
Do you know that the Marquis de Sessac is here, that he will
have a situation in the army, and will probably soon be pre-
sented to the king ? This is manifestly predestination.

Corbinelli and I talk of Providence every day, and we say,
as you know, from day to day and hour to hour, that your
journey is determined. You are very glad that you have not
to answer for this affair, for a resolution is a wonderful thing
for you, quite a wild beast. I have seen you a long time de-
ciding on a color : it is a proof of a too enlightened mind,
which, seeing at one glance all the difficulties, remains sus-
pended, as it were, like Mohammed's tomb : such was M. Bignon,
the greatest wit of the age ; I, who am the least of the present
age, hate uncertainty, and love decision. M. de Pomponne

* The Dew, the Torrent, the Fire, and the Snow, etc., are ciphers be-
tween the mother and daughter. These ciphers do not always mean
the same persons. In this place, it seems that Madame de Montespan
is the Torrent, Madame de Valliere the Dew, the king is the Fire, and
the Snow represents the queen.

f Apparently the Bishop of Marseilles.

5*

106 LETTERS TO

informs me you received your leave of absence to-day ; I am
consequently ready to do every thing you wish, and to follow,
or not to follow, the advice of your friends.

It is said here that M. de Turenne has not yet begun his
march, and that there is no further occasion for it, because M.
de Monterei has at last retreated, and M. de Luxembourg is
freed, with the assistance of five or six thousand men, whom
M. de Schomberg assembled, and with whom he so extremely
harassed M. de Monterei, that he was obliged to retire with
his troops. The prince is to be recalled and all our poor
friends with him. This is the news of the day.

The ball was dull, and ended at half past eleven. The king
led out the queen ; the dauphin, madame ; monsieur, made-
moiselle ; the Prince de Conde, the great mademoiselle ; the
Count de Roche-sur-Yon, Mademoiselle de Bois, handsome as
an angel, dressed in black velvet, with a profusion of diamonds,
and an apron and stomacher of point lace. The Princess
d'Harcourt was as pale as the Commandeur in the play Du Fes-
tin de Pierre. M. de Pomponne has desired me to dine with
him to-morrow, to meet Despreaux, who is to read his Art of
Poetry.

LETTER XXXVI.

Parts, Monday, January 15, 1674.
Saturday last I dined with M. de Pomponne, as I told you,
and was there till five o'clock, enchanted, transported, enrap-
tured with the beauties of Despreaux's Art of Poetry.
D'Hacqueville was there, we often talked of the pleasure you
would have received from it. M. de Pomponne recollected
that one day when you were a very little girl at your Uncle
de Sevigne's, you got behind a large window with your
brother, and said you were a prisoner, a poor unfortunate
princess driven from your father's house ; your brother, who
was as hansome as yourself, and you were as handsome as an an-
gel, played his part extremely well. You were nine years of age.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 107

He made me remember the day perfectly. He never forgets
one moment that he has seen you, and promises himself great
pleasure in seeing you again, which is very gratifying to me. I
own to you, my dear, that my heart is bursting with joy,
but I shall conceal it till I know your resolution.

M. de Villars is returned home from Spain, and has given
us a thousand amusing anecdotes respecting the Spaniards. I
have at length seen La Marans in her cell, for it is nothing else.
I found her quite in dishabille, not a single hair to be seen,
with a coarse coif of old Venice point, a black handkerchief
on her neck, a faded gray gown, and an old petticoat. She
seemed very glad to see me ; we embraced each other tenderly.
She does not seem at all changed. We began the conversa-
tion by talking of you ; she appears to love you as well as she
ever did, and seemed so humble that it is impossible to help
loving her. We then talked of the religious life she had lately
embraced. She assured me it was true that God had vouch-
safed her a great portion of grace, of which she had the most
grateful sense ; that this grace consists in great faith, profound
love of God, horror of the world and its vanities, and a thor-
ough distrust of herself, adding, that if she were to go abroad
for only an hour, this divine spirit would evaporate. In short,
she seems to preserve it carefully in her solitude like a bottle
of fine perfume ; she believes the world would make her lose
this precious liquor, and she even fears the parade of devotion
might spill it. Madame de Schomberg says she is not to be
compared to Madame de Marans. Her savage disposition is
softened into a passion for retirement ; the disposition does not
change ; she is even exempt from the folly common to most
women, to love their confessor ; she does not approve this tie, and
never speaks to him but at confession. She goes on foot to her
parish church, reads all our books of religion, works, prays, has
a fixed time for every thing, takes all her meals in her own
room, sees Madame de Schomberg at a certain hour, hates
news as much as she used to like it, is as charitable to others
as she used to slander them, and loves the Creator as much aa

108 LETTERS TO

she loved the creature. We laughed a good deal at her form*
er manners, and turned them into ridicule. She has not the
least air of the Collette sisters. She speaks very sincerely and
very agreeably of her situation. I was two hours with her
without being at all dull. She reproached herself even for
this pleasure, but without the least affectation ; in short, she is
much more amiable than she ever was. I do not think, my
dear child, you can complain that I have not been particular
enough.

I have just received your letter of the 7th. I own to you, my
dearest, that the joy it has given me is so lively that my heart
can scarcely contain it. You know how strongly it feels, and
I should hate myself if I were so warmly interested in my
own affairs as in yours. At last, my child, you are coming ;
this is the most delightful to me of all. But I am going to
tell you something you do not expect, which is, that I sol-
emnly swear to you that if M. de la Garde had not deemed
your journey expedient, and that if it really were not so for
your own affairs, I would not have taken into consideration,
at least for this year, the ardent desire I have to see you, nor
what you owe to my infinite affection. I know how to keep
within the bounds of reason, whatever it cost me, and I have
sometimes as much strength in my weakness as those who are
wiser. After this sincere confession I can not conceal from
you that I am penetrated with joy, and that, reason concur-
ring with my wishes, I am, at the moment I write to you,
perfectly satisfied, so that I think of nothing now but of re-
ceiving you. Do you know, the best thing after yourself and
M. de Grignan, would be to bring the coadjutor ? You will
not perhaps always have La Garde ; and if he fails you, you
well know M. de Grignan is not so zealous in his own affairs
as in those of the king, his master. He has a religious care
of those, which can only be compared to his negligence with
regard to his own. When he will take the trouble to speak,
no one does it better, and we can not therefore but wish it.
You are not like Madame de Cauvisson, to act alone ; you

MADAME DE GBI6NAN. 109

must wait eight or ten years. But M. de Grignan, you, and
the coadjutor, would do admirably together. Cardinal de
Retz is just arrived, and will be delighted to see you. What
joy, my dear child, will your return occasion ! but, above all
things, come prudently. It is to M. de Grignan I give this
charge, and I expect him to be accountable to me. I have
written to the coadjutor, to entreat him to accompany you.
He will facilitate our audience with the two ministers, and
will support his brother's interest. The coadjutor is bold and
fortunate, and you will mutually heighten each other's conse-
quence. I could talk till this time to-morrow upon the sub-
ject. I have written to the archbishop. Gain my point with
the coadjutor, and give him my letter.

The prince has come back, after having been thirty leagues
on his journey. M. de Turenne did not go. M. de Monterei
has withdrawn his forces, and M. de Luxembourg is now at
liberty. Within these twenty-four hours the chapel at St.
Germain has been robbed of a silver lamp, worth seventy
thousand francs, and six candlesticks of the same metal, each
of them taller than I am. This is a daring insolence.* The
ropes they made use of to get in were found by the Richelieu
gallery. No one can conceive how the robbery could have
been committed, for there are guards continually going that
way, and patrolling about all night.

Do you know that peace is talked of? M. de Chaulnes is
since come from Brittany, and is to set out again immediately
for Cologne.

* The Duke of Saint-Simon relates a still more extraordinary robbery
that took place at Versailles. In one night all the gold ornaments and
fringes were stolen from the state apartment, from the gallery to the
chapel. Whatever inquiries were made, no trace could be found of the
robber. But five or six days after, the king being at supper, an enor-
mous packet fell suddenly upon the table at some distance from him ;
it contained the stolen fringes, with a note fastened to it with these
words, " Bontems, take thy fringes again, the pleasure pays not half
the pain." Saint-Simon was a witness of this.

110 LETTERS TO

LETTER XXXVII.

Paris, Monday, February 5, 1674.

It is many years ago, to-day, that there came into the world
a creature destined to love you beyond every other thing in
existence.* I beg you not to suffer your imagination to wan-
der either to the right hand or to the left : — Cet homme la^
sire, c'etait moi-meme.\

It was yesterday three years that I felt the most poignant
grief of my whole life. You set out at that time for Provence,
and you remain there still. My letter would be very long, if
I attempted to express all the sorrow I then felt, and what I
have since felt, in consequence of this separation. But to
leave this melancholy digression. I have received no letters
from you to-day. I know not whether I am to expect any,
and I fear not, as it is so late ; I have, however, expected
them with impatience ; I wanted to hear of your departure
from Aix, and to be able to compute, with some exactness, the
time of your return. Every one teases me, and I know not
what to answer. I think but of you and your journey. If I
receive any letters from you after this is sent away, you may
make yourself perfectly easy ; for 1 will certainly take care
to do whatever you desire me.

I write to-day a little earlier than usual. M. Corbinelli, and
Mademoiselle de Meri, are here, and have dined with me. I
am going to a little opera of Moliere's, that is to be sung at
Jellison's. It is an excellent composition ; the prince, the
duke, and the duchess, will be there. I shall, perhaps, sup at
Gourville's, with Madame de la Fayette, the duke, Madame de
Thianges, and M. de Vivonne, of whom we are to take our
leave, as he sets out from hence to-morrow. If this party is
broken up, I shall, perhaps, go to Madame de Chaulnes, where

* She refers to her birth-day, 5th February, 1626.
f A line of Marot, iu an epistle to Francis I. This man, sire, was
myself.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. Ill

t am earnestly invited, as well by the mistress of the house as
by Cardinals de Retz and Bouillon, who made me promise
them. The first of fhese is very impatient to see you; he
loves you dearly.

It was apprehended that Mademoiselle de Blois had the
small-pox, but it does not prove so. There is not a word said
of the news from England ; this makes me conclude there is
nothing good from thence. There has been only a ball or two
at Paris during the whole carnival ; there were masques at
noon, but not many. It is a very dull season. The assemblies
at St. Germain are mortifications for the king, and only show
the falling off of the carnival.

Father Bourdaloue preached a sermon on the purification
of our Lady, which transported every body. There was such
energy in his discourse as made the courtiers tremble. Never
did preacher enforce with so much authority, and in so noble
a manner, the great truths of the Gospel. His design was to
show that every power ought to be subject to the law, from
the examph of our Lord, who was presented at the temple.
This was insisted on with all the strength and clearness im-
aginable ; and certain points were urged with a force worthy
of St. Paul himself.

The Archbishop of Rheims, as he returned yesterday from
St. Germain, met with a curious adventure. He drove at his
usual rate, like a whirlwind. If he thinks himself a great man,
his servants think him still greater. They passed through
Nanterre, when they met a man on horseback, and in an in-
solent tone bid him clear the way. The poor man used his
utmost endeavors to avoid the danger that threatened him,
but his horse proved unmanageable. To make short of it, the
coach and six turned them both topsy-turvy ; but at the same
time the coach too was completely overturned. In an instant the
horse and the man, instead of amusing themselves with having
their limbs broken, rose almost miraculously; the man re-
mounted, and galloped away, and is galloping still for aught I
know; while the servants, the archbishop's coachman, and

112 LETTERS TO

the archbishop himself at the head of them, cried out, " Stop
that villain, stop him ; thrash him soundly." The rage of the
archbishop was so great, that afterward, in relating the ad-
venture, he said, "if he could have caught the rascal, he would
have broke all his bones, and cut off both his ears.

Adieu, my dear, delightful child, I can not express my eager-
ness to see you. I shall direct this letter to Lyons ; it is the
third ; the two first were to be left with the chamarier. You
must be got thither by this time or never.

LETTER XXXVIII.

Paris, Friday, May 31, 1675.

I have received only your first letter yet, my dear child ;
but that is invaluable. I have seen nothing since your ab-
sence, and every fresh person reminds me of it ; they talk to

me of you ; they pity me ; they but stop ; is it not such

thoughts as these we should pass lightly over ? Let us then
do so.

I was yesterday at Madame de Verneuil's in my way from
St. Maur, where I had been with Cardinal de Retz. At the
Hotel de Sully, I met Mademoiselle de Launoi,* who is just
married to the old Count de Mbntrevel ; the wedding was kept
there ; you never saw a bride so pert ; she bustles about the
house, and calls husband, as if she had been married for
twenty years. This same husband of hers, you must know, is
very much troubled with the ague ; he expected his fit the
day after he was married, but missed it ; upon which Fieubet
said, " We have found a remedy for the ague, but who can
tell us the dose ?" Mesdames des Castelnau, Louvigny, Sulli,
and Fiesque, were there. I leave you to guess what these

* Adriana-Philippa-Theresa de Launoi, who had been maid of honor
to the queen, was married to James-Mary de la Baume Montrevel in
1675, and not in 1672, as it is said by mistake in the history of the
great officers of the crown.

MADAME DE GRIG^AN. 113

charming women said to me. My friends are too solicitous
about me *,• they harass me ; but I do not lose a single mo-
ment that I can spend with our dear cardinal. These letters
will inform you of the arrival of the coadjutor ; I saw and em-
braced him this morning. He is to have a conference this
evening with his eminence and M. d'Hacqueville on the steps
he is to take. He has hitherto remained incog.

The Duchess has lost Mademoiselle d'Enghein ; one of her
sons is going to die besides ; her mother is ill ; Madame de
Langeron is already under ground ; the prince and the duke
in the army ; ample subjects for tears, and, as I am told, she
is not sparing of them. I leave D'Hacqueville to tell you the
news of the war ; and the Grignans to write to you about the
chevalier ; if he should return hither, I will take as much care
of him as of my own son. I imagine you are now upon the
tranquil Saone ; our minds ought to resemble this calm view,
but our hearts perpetually seduce them ; mine is wholly with
my daughter. I have already told you, that my greatest diffi-
culty is to divert my thoughts from you, for they all tend to
the same point.

LETTER XXXIX.

Paris, "Wednesday, June 5, 16*75.
I have not received any of your letters since that from Sens ;
you will therefore easily conceive how anxious I am to be in-
formed of your health and safety. I am fully persuaded you
have written to me# and complain of nothing but the manage-
ment, or rather mismanagement of the post. According to
the calculations of your friends here, you should be by this
time at Grignan, unless you were detained at Lyons during
the holidays. In short, my dear child, I have accompanied
you step by step all the way, and am in hopes the Rhone be-
haved with proper respect to you. I have been at Livri with
Corbinelli ; but returned here with all the haste I could, that .

114 LETTERS TO

I might not lose a moment in seeing our dear cardinal. The
great affection he has for you, and the long friendship which
has subsisted between him and me, have attached me to him
very sincerely ; I see him every evening from eight till ten,
and I think he is very glad to have me with him till his bed-
time. Our conversation is constantly about you ; this is a
subject we are fond of expatiating upon, and indeed it seems
the master-sentiment of both hearts. He is for coming hither,
but I can not bear this house when you are not in it.

The nuncio informed him yesterday that he had just learned
by a courier from Rome that he was appointed to a cardinal-
ship. The pope* has lately made a promotion of his crea-
tures, as it is called. The crowns are put off for the ) five
or six years, and consequently M. de Marseilles.f The . incio
told Bonvoulour, who went to congratulate him on his promo-
tion, that he hoped his holiness would not now accept Cardi-
nal de Retz's resignation of his hat ; that he should use all his
endeavors to dissuade his holiness from doing so, as he had
the honor of being his colleague : so now we have another
cardinal, Cardinal de Spada. Cardinal de Retz sets out on
Tuesday ; I dread the day ; for I shall suffer extremely in lot
ing so valuable a friend : his courage seems to increase in pn
portion as that of his friend diminishes.

The Duchess de la Valliere pronounced her vows yester
day .J Madame de Villars promised to take me to see it ; but
by some misunderstanding we thought we should not get places.
Nothing more, however, was necessary than to present our-

* Clement X.

f Toussaint de Forbin-Janson, Bishop of Marseilles, and afterward
Bish6p of Beauvois, was not made cardinal till 1690, at the promotion
by Alexander VIII.

\ For more than three years she had only received at court insults
from her rival and unkindness from the king. She remained there, she
said, merely from a spirit of penitence, and added, " When the life of
a Carmelite appears to me too severe, I have only to call to mind what
those persons made me suffer," pointing to the king and to Madame de
Montespan.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 115

, selves at the door, though the queen had given out that the
admission should not be general ; and, after all, we did not go.
Madame de Villars was very much vexed at it. The beautiful
duchess performed this action like every other of her life, in
the most charming manner possible : she is surprisingly hand-
some : but you will be astonished to hear that M. de Con-
dom's (Bossuet's) sermon was not so good as was expected.
The coadjutor was there ; he will tell you how well the affair
goes on with respect to M. de Paris and M. de St. Paul ; but
he finds the shade of M. de Toulon and the spirit of M. de
Marseilles every where.

Madame de Coulanges goes from hence on Monday with
Corbinelli : this deprives me of my companions. You know
how good Corbinelli is to me, and how kindly he enters into
all my sentiments. I am convinced of his friendship, and feel
his absence ; but, my child, after having lost you, of what else
can I complain ? It is true that you are interested in my com-
plaints, because he is one of those with whom I most enjoyed
the consolation of speaking of you ; for you must not im-
agine, that those to whom I can not speak freely are as
agreeable to me as those who enter into my feelings. You
seem to me to be apprehensive that I make myself ridiculous,
and that I am too apt to divulge my sentiments on this pleas-
ing subject. No, no, my dear, fear nothing ; I am able to
govern the torrent. Trust to me, and let me love you, till it
shall please God to take you out of my heart, in order to
place himself there ; for you can yield to none but him. In
short, my heart is so entirely occupied with, and so full of
you, that finding myself incapable of any other thought, I have
been restrained from performing the devotions of the season.
Adieu, my dear child, for the present I shall finish my let-
ter this evening.

I have just received a letter from Macon ; I can not yet
read it without the fountain playing its old tricks : my heart
is so extremely sensible that the least thing that affects it
quite overcomes me. You may imagine that, with this fine

116 LETTERS TO

disposition, I frequently meet with opportunities to try it ; bi^ ,
pray, have no fears for my health. I can never forget the
philosophy you inspired me with the evening before we part-
ed ; I improve by it as much as I can ; but I have such an
habitual weakness, that in spite of your good lessons, I often
yield to my emotion.

Our cardinal will have left me before you receive this ; it
will be a melancholy day to me, for I am extremely attached
to his person, his merit, his conversation, which I enjoy as
much as I can, and the friendship he expresses for me. His
soul is of so superior an order that it is not to be expected
that his life should be attended with only common events. lie
that makes it a law to himself, to do always what is most great
and heroic, must place his retreat in some proper part of his
life, like a shade beautifully disposed in a piece of painting,
and leave his friends to lament it.

How facetious you are, my child, with the newspaper in
your hand ! What ! can you derive amusement from it al-
ready ? I did expect that you would at least have waited till
you had crossed the vile Durance. The conversation between
the king and the prince appears to me very humorous ; I
think you would have been entertained with it even here. I
have just received a letter from the chevalier, who is well ;
he is with the army, and has only had five attacks of the
ague : this is one subject of uneasiness less ; but his letter
which is full of friendship, is in the true German style ; for he
will not believe a syllable of the retreat of Cardinal de Retz :
he desires me to tell him the truth, which I shall not fail to do.
I shall distribute all your compliments, and I am sure, they
will be well received ; every body thinks it an honor to be re-
membered by you ; M. de Coulanges was quite proud of it.
The coadjutor will relate to you the success of his journey ;
but he will not boast that he was on the point of being stifled
at Madame de Louvois' by twenty women, who each supposed
they had a right to embrace him : this occasioned a confusion,
an oppression, a suffocation, of which the bare idea almost

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 117

suffocates me, accompanied by the most high-flown, reiterated,
and affected compliments that it is possible to conceive : Ma-
dame de Coulanges describes the scene very drolly. I wish you
may have the company af Grignan you mention. My son is
well ; he sends you a thousand remembrances. M. de Grig-
nan will be very willing for me to embrace him, now that ht
is no longer occupied with the bustle of the boat.

LETTER XL.

Paris, Friday, June 14, 1675.
Instead of visiting you in your apartment, my dear child, I
sit down to converse with you by letter ; when I am so unfor-
tunate as not to have you with me, the most natural consola-
tion I can find is to write to you, to receive your letters, to
speak of you, or to take some step in your affairs. I passed
the afternoon yesterday with Cardinal de Retz ; you can not
possibly guess what we talk of when we are together. I al-
ways begin by telling you that you can not love him too well,
and that I think you happy in having so firmly fixed the kind-
ness and affection he before felt for you. Let me know how
you bear the air at Grignan, and whether it has already begun
to prey upon you ; how you enjoy your health and how you
look. Your picture is very pleasing, but far less so than youi
person, without reckoning that it wants the power of speech
Be not uneasy about my health ; the rule I observe at presen
is, to be irregular ; I am not sensible of any indisposition ; x
dine alone ; stay at home till five or six o'clock, and go in the
evening, wljen I have no business of importance to keep me
within, to the house of one of my friends. I walk or ride ac-
cording to the distance, but I make eveiy thing yield to the
pleasure of being with our cardinal. I lose not a moment he
can spare me, and he is very obliging in this respect. I shall
feel more sensibly his departure and his absence; but this
does not prevent my indulging myself in the pleasure of his

118 LETTEHS TO

conversation; I never think of sparing myself ; after having
endured the pangs of parting with you, I have nothing to fear
from any less tender attachment. Were it not for him, and
for your affairs, I should go a little to Livri ; but I make
every consideration yield to these, which are above all my
little pleasures.

The queen went to see Madame de Montespan at Clagny
on the day I told you she took her up in her carriage as she
passed ; she went into her room, where she staid half an hour ;
she then went into M. du Vexin's, who was a little indisposed
and afterward took Madame de Montespan to Trianon, as I
informed you. Some ladies have been at Clagny ; they found
the fair lady so occupied with the building and enchantments
that are preparing for her, that I fancy her like Dido building
Carthage ; but the resemblance will not hold good in any
other respect. M. de la Rochefoucault and Madame de la
Fayette have entreated me to present their compliments to
you. We fear you will have too much of the grand-duchess.*
A prison is preparing for her at Montmartre, with which she
would be frightened, if she did not hope to change it ; but she
will be caught ; they are delighted in Tuscany to have got rid
of her. Madame de Sully is gone ; Paris is become a desert.
I already wish myself out of it. I dined yesterday with the
coadjutor at the cardinal's : I have left him in charge to in-
form you of that part of ecclesiastical history. M. Jolif
preached at the opening of the assembly of the clergy, but as
he took an ancient text, and preached only ancient doctrine,
his sermon seemed a piece of antiquity altogether. It was a
fine subject too for reflection.

The queen dined to-day at the Carmelites de Bouloi, with
Madame de Montespan, and Madame de Fontevraud ; you will
see how this friendship will end. They say that M. de Tu-
renne, as it were, conducts the enemy's troops to their quar-

* Marguerite-Louise d'Orleans, daughter of Gaston de France Duka
of Orleans, and of Marguerite de Lorraine, his second wife.
f Claude Joli, Bishop of Agen.

MA AME DE GRIGNAN, 119

ters. My heart is uracil oppressed with the thoughts of losing
the cardinal ; the repeated intercourse of friendship and con-
versation which has so lately passed between us, redoubles my
grief ; he goes to-morrow. I have not yet received your let-
ters. Believe, my dear, that it is not possible to love you
more than I love you ; nothing animates me but what has
some relation to you. Madame de Rochebonne has written
to me very affectionately ; she told me with what feelings you
received and read my letters at Lyons. I see, my dear, you
are grown weak as well as I.

D'Hacqueville has sent you such a large packet that it
would be ridiculous to pretend to tell you any news now.

LETTER XLI.

Paris, Friday, June 28, 1675.

Madame de Vins expressed herself very affectionately about
you yesterday, my dear ; that is, in her way, but it is not a bad
one ; there seemed no interlineations in what she said.

We have no news. The king's good star has brought the
Duke of Lorraine and the Prince of Orange across the Meuse
again. M. de Turenne has now elbow-room, so that we are no
longer confined in any part. I am rejoiced that my letters
are so pleasing to you ; I can hardly think they are so agree-
able as you say they are. I know they have no stiffness in
them. Our good cardinal is gone to solitude ; his departure
gave me sorrow, and reminded me of yours. I have long re-
marked our cruel separations to the four corners of the world.
It is very cold ; we are obliged to have a fire, and so are you,
which is more astonishing still. You judge well respecting
Quantova ;* if she can not return to her old ways, she will push
her authority and grandeur beyond the clouds ; but she must
prepare to be loved the whole year without scruple : in the
mean time her house is crowded by the whole court, visits are

* Quantova is Mme. de Montespan.

120 LETTERS TO

paid alternately, and her consequence is unbounded. Be not
uneasy respecting my journey to Brittany ; you are too good
and too attentive to my health. I will have nothing to do with
La Mousse ; the dullness of others weighs me down more than
my own. I have no time to go to Livri. I have made a vow
to expedite your affairs. I shall give your compliments to
Madame de Villars and Madame de la Fayette. The latter
has still a little fever upon her. Adieu, my dearest child, be-
lieve me to be most sincerely yours.

LETTER XLH.

Paris, Friday, July 5, 1675.
I sit down, my dear, to talk to you a little of our good car-
dinal. I send you a letter he has written to you. Pray ad-
vise him to write his history, it is what all his friends press
him much to do. He tells me he is very well pleased with
his desert, that he can look upon it without the least horror,
and humbly hopes that God will support him in his weakness.
He expresses the most sincere regard for you, and desires me
not to think of leaving Paris till I have finished all your affairs.
He remembers the time when you had the ague, and that he
desired me, for his sake, to be careful of your health. I answei
him in the same tone. He assures me that the most frightful
solitude would not make him forget the friendship he owes us.
He was received at St. Michael's* with transports of joy ; the
people were all on their knees, and received him as a protector
sent by God. The troops, who were quartered there, are taken
off, the officers having waited on him for his orders to send
away or to leave as many as pleased. Cardinal Bonzi has as-
sured me that the pope, without staying to receive our cardi-
nal's letter, had sent him a brief, to tell him that he supposes,
and even desires, he will keep his hat ; that the preserving his

* The place of the cardinal's retreat, a remote village in the province
of Brittany.

MADAME DE QRIGNAN. 121

rank and dignity will in no wise impede the work of his sal-
vation ; and it is moreover added, that his holiness expressly
commanded him not to make choice of any other place of re-
tirement than St. Denis ; but I much doubt this latter part of
the report, so I only tell you my author for the former part.

I am convinced he thinks no more about the cassolette. If
I had desired him not to send it, it would only have served to
put him in mind of it, so I thought it was best to take no
notice of it. There is no news of importance stirring. Every
thing goes on with spirit on M. de Turenne's side.

The other day there was a Madame Noblet, of the Vitri
family, playing at basset with monsieur. Mention was made
of M. de Vitri, who is very ill, upon which she said to mon-
sieur, " Ah ! sir, I saw him this morning, poor man ! his face
looked just like a stratagem" What could she mean ? Mad-
ame de Richelieu has received such kind and affectionate let-
ters from the king, that she is more than repaid for what she
has done.* Adieu, my dearest and best-beloved.

LETTER XLm.

Paris, Friday, July 19, 1675.
Guess from whence I write to you, my dear — from M. de
Pomponne's, as you will perceive by the few lines which
Madame de Vins sends you with this. I have been with her,
the Abbe Arnauld, and D'Hacqueville, to see the procession
of St. Genevieve pass ; we returned in very good time ; we
were back by two o'clock ; there are many that will not re-
turn till night. Do you know that this procession is consid-
ered a very fine sight. It is attended by all the religious
orders, in their respective habits, the curates of the several
parishes, and all the canons of Notre-Dame, preceded by the
archbishop of Paris in his pontificals, and on foot, giving his

* The singular attachment of the queen and Madame de Montespan.

6

122 LETTERS TO

benediction to the right and left as he goes, till he comes to
the cathedral ; I should have said to the left only, for the
Abbe de St. Genevieve marches on the right, barefoot, and pre-
ceded by a hundred and fifty monks, barefoot also ; the cross
and miter are borne before him, like the archbishop, and he
gives his benedictions in the same manner, but with great ap-
parent devotion, humility, and fasting, and an air of penitence,
which show that he is to say mass at Notre-Dame. The par*
liament, in their red robes, and the principal companies follow
the shrine of the saint, which glitters with precious stones, and
is carried by twenty men clad in white, and barefoot. The
provost of the merchants, and four counselors, are left as hos-
tages at the Church of St. Genevieve, for the return of this
precious treasure. You will ask me, perhaps, why the shrine
was exposed. It was to put a stop to the continual rains we
have had, and to obtain warm and dry weather, which hap-
pened at the very time they were making preparations for the
procession, to which, as it was intended to obtain for us all
kinds of blessings, I presume we owe his majesty's return, who
is expected here on Sunday next. In my letter of Wednesday
I will write you all that is worth writing.

M. de La Trousse is conducting a detachment of six thou-
sand men to Marshal de Ore qui, who is to join M. de Turenne.
La Fare and the others remain with the dauphin's gens-d'armes,
in the army commanded by the prince. The other day mad-
ame and Madame de Monaco took D'Hacqueville, at the Hotel
de Grammont, to walk about the streets and the Tuileries in-
cog. ; as her highness is not much given to a disposition for
gallantry, her dignity sits very easy on her. The Tuscan
princess is expected every hour. This is another of the bless-
ings obtained by the shrine of St. Genevieve. I saw one of
your letters yesterday to the Abbe de Pontcarre ; it is the best
letter that ever was written ; there is no part of it which has
not some point and wit. He has sent a copy of it to his emi-
nence, for the original is kept as sacred as the shrine.

Adieu, my dearest and best-beloved ; you are so remarkable

• MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 123

for your inviolable love of truth, that I do not abate myself a
single expression of your kindness toward me, and you may
judge, then, how happy it makes me.

LETTER LXIV.

Paris, Wednesday, July 24, 1675.

The weather is so extremely hot, my dear, that instead of
tossing and tumbling in my bed the whim took me to get up
(though it is but five o'clock in the morning) and chat a little
with you.

The king arrived at Versailles on Sunday morning ; the
queen, Madame de Montespan, and all the other ladies, went
to take possession of their former apartments. In a short time
after his arrival, his majesty began to make the usual visits :
the only difference is that they play in the state-apartments.
I shall have more intelligence before I conclude my letter.
The reason of my being so ill-informed of what passed at Ver-
sailles is, that I came but last night from M. de Pomponne's ;
Madame de Pomponne had invited D'Hacqueville and me in
so pressing a manner that there was no refusing. Indeed, M.
de Pomponne appeared delighted to see us ; you were spoken
of with all the friendship and esteem imaginable, during the
short time we were there, and there was no want of conversa-
tion. One of our whims was to wish we could see through a
great many things which we think we understand, but which,
in fact, we do not ; we should then see into what passes in
families, where we should find hatred, mistrust, anger, and con-
tempt, in the room of all those fine things that are set to out-
ward show, and pass upon the world for realities. I was
wishing for a closet hung with mirrors of this kind instead of
pictures. We carried this odd notion very far, and diverted
ourselves extremely with it. We were for opening D'Hacque-
ville's head to furnish ourselves from thence with some of these
curious anecdotes, and pleased ourselves with thinking how

124 LETTERS TO

the world is in general imposed upon by what they see and
take for truth. You think that things are so and so in such a
house ; that such a couple adore each other ; but stay a while
and turn up the cards, and you will see that they hate each
other most completely. You would imagine that such an event
proceeded from such a cause — the little demon that drew aside
the curtain would undeceive you ; and so through life. This
affor led us infinite amusement. You see, my dear, I must
have plenty of time to entertain you with such trifles. This is
the consequence of rising so early in the morning ; this is
doing as M. de Marseilles does. If it had been winter I should
have visited by torch-light.

You have your cool north-east wind at last. Ah ! my child,
how uncomfortable it is ; we are broiling with heat in this
country, and in Provence you are starving with cold. I am
convinced that our shrine has effected this change ; for, before
the procession, we discovered, like you, that the sun and the
seasons had changed their course. I thought I had discovered,
too, like you, that this was the true reason that had occasioned
the days we so much regret to fly so rapidly. For my part,
my dear child, I experience as much sorrow to see these days
passed and gone forever, as I formerly experienced joy in
spending winter and summer, and every season, with you ; this
painful thought must give way to the hope of seeing you
again.

I wait for cooler weather before I take physic, and for
cooler councils in Brittany* before I venture thither. Madame
de Lavardiu, De la Troche, M. d'Haroiiis, and I, shall consult
together about a proper time for our journey, having no de-
sign to run ourselves into the midst of the commotions that at
present rend our poor province. They seem to increase daily,
and those concerned in them have got as far as Fougeres,

* The exorbitant taxes that had been imposed upon these unhappy
people had obliged numbers of them to have recourse to arms, in order
to free themselves from the load of exactions that it was impossible for
them to bear.

MADAME DE GRIGNAFT. 125

burning and ransacking all the way as they go along. This
is rather too near the Mocks, They have begun a second time
to plunder the bureau* at Rennes : Madame de Chaulnes is
terrified almost to death at the continual menaces she hears.
I was tr.ld yesterday that some of the mutineers had actually
stopped ler in her coach, and that even the most moderate of
them had sent notice to M. de Chaulnes, who is at Fort Louis,
that if the troops he had sent for took a single step toward
entering the province, his wife would run the hazard of being
torn to pieces by the insurgents. It is necessary, however,
that some troops should march against them, for things are
come to such a height that lenitives are no longer of service.
But it would not be prudent for us to set out before the storm
is a little subsided, and we see the issue of this extreme con-
fusion. It is hoped that the approaching harvest will help to
disperse the rioters, for after all they must get in their grain ;
and there are nearly six or seven thousand of them, not one of
whom can speak a word of French.

M. de Boucherat told me the other day, that a curate hav-
ing received a clock that had been sent him from France, as
they call this part of the country, in the sight of some of his
parishioners, they immediately cried out in their language,
that it was # new tax, they were sure of it, they saw it plainly.
The good curate, with great presence of mind, and with-
out seeming at all confused, said to them, " My children, you
are mistaken, you know not what you are talking of; it is an
indulgence" This brought them all immediately upon their
kr.?es. You may, by this specimen, form a judgment of the
understandings of these people. Let the consequence be what
it may, I must wait till the hurricane is past ; but I am sorry
to be obliged to defer my journey. It was fixed at the most
convenient time for me, and it can not be put off without inter-
fering with my plans. You know my resignation to Provi-
dence ; we must all return to this at last, and take things as

* A kind of exchequer established in all the principal towns in
France for the collection of the king's revenues.

126 LETTERS TO

they come. I talk wisely, as you see, but I do not always
think wisely. You well know there is one point in which I
can not practice what I preach.

LETTER XLV.

Paris, Friday, August 16, 16? 5.
I could wish all you write to me of M. de Turenne inserted
in a funeral oration. There is an uncommon beauty and en-
ergy in your style ; it has all the force of eloquence that can
be inspired by grief. Think not, my child, that the remem-
brance of him can be lost in this country. The torrent that
sweeps every thing away can not remove" a memory so well
established ; it is consecrated to immortality. I was the other
day at M. de la Rochefoucault's, with Madame de Lavardin,
M. de Marsillac, and Madame de la Fayette. The premier
joined us. The conversation, which lasted two hours, turned
wholly on the divine qualities of this true hero. The eyes of
every one were bathed in tears, and you can not imagine how
deeply the grief of his loss is engraved on all their hearts. You
have exceeded us in nothing, but in the satisfaction of sighing
aloud, and of writing his panegyric. We remarked one thing,
which was, that it is not at his death only, that the largeness
of his heart, the extent of his knowledge, the elevation of his
mind are admired ; all this the world acknowledged during
his life. How much this admiration is increased by his death
you may easily suppose. In a word, my dear, do not think
that the death of this great man is regarded here like that of
others. You may talk of it as much as you please ; but
do not suppose your grief can exceed ours. That none of
the devotees have yet taken it into their heads to doubt
whether his soul was in a good state, proceeds from the perfect
esteem every person felt for him. It is not possible that sin or
guilt could find a place in. his hearfr; his conversion,* so sin-

* He was originally a Protestant.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 127

cere, appeared to us like a baptism. Every one speaks of the
innocence of his manners, the purity of his intentions, his un-
affected humility, the solid glory that filled his heart, with-
out haughtiness or ostentation, his love of virtue for its own
sake, without regarding the approbation of men, and, to crown
all, his generous and Christian charity. Did not I tell you of
the regiment he clothed ? It cost him fourteen thousand
francs, and left him almost penniless. The English told M.
de Lorges, that they would continue to serve this campaign to
avenge his death ; but that they would afterward retire, not
being able to serve under any other general after M. de
Turenne. When some of the new troops grew a little im-
patient in the morasses, where they were up to their knees in
water, the old soldiers animated them thus : " What ! do you
complain ? It is plain you do not yet know M. de Turenne ;
he is more grieved than we are when we are in any difficulty.
He thinks of nothing at this moment but of removing us
hence ; he wakes, while we sleep ; he is a father to us ; it is
easy to see that you are but young soldiers." It was thus
they encouraged them. All I tell you is true ; I do not load
you with idle stories to amuse you because you are at a dis-
tance ; this would be cheating you, and you may rely upon
what I write to you as firmly, as on what I should tell you if
you were here. I return to the state of his soul. It is really
remarkable that no zealot has yet thought fit to doubt
whether it has pleased God to receive it with open arms, as
one of the best and noblest he ever created. Reflect a little
upon this general assurance of his salvation, and you will find
it is a sort of miracle, scarcely known but in his case.

The king has said of a certain person, whose absence last
winter delighted you, that he had neither head nor heart ;
these were his very words. M. de Rohan, with a handful of
men, has dispersed and put to flight the mutineers, who were
formed in troops in his Duchy of Rohan. Our troops are at
Nantes, commanded by Fourbin ; for Vins is still a subaltern.
Fourbin's orders are to obey M. de Chaulnes ; but as M. de

128 LETTERS TO

Chaulnes is at Fort Louis, Fourbin in effect lias the command.
You understand what these imaginary honors are, which remain
without action in those who have the name of commanders.
M. de Lavardin wished much to have this command ; he has
been at the head of an old regiment, and pretends it was an
honor due to him ; but his claim was not admitted. It is
said that our mutineers have sued for pardon ; I suppose they
will obtain it, after a sufficient number have been hanged.
M. de Chamillart, who was odious to the province, is removed ;
and M. de Marsillac, who is a worthy man, is made intendant.
These disorders no longer prevent me from taking my jour-
ney; but there is something here I am unwilling to leave. I
have not yet been able to go to Livri, however my inclination
may tempt me. Time must be taken as it comes ; we wish
to be in the center of news in these critical times.

Let me add a word more concerning M. de Turenne. He
had made an acquaintance with a shepherd, who knew the
roads and the country well ; ha used to take him along with
him, and order his troops to be posted according to his direc-
tion. He had a great affection for this shepherd, and esteemed
him as a man of good plain sense. He said that Colonel Bee
owed his rise to a similar quality ; and that he believed this
shepherd would make his fortune as he had done. He was
pleased with having contrived to make his troops pass without
danger ; and said to M. de Roye, " In good earnest this seems
to me no ill performance, and I believe M. de MontecucuH
w7ill not find it so." It is indeed esteemed a masterpiece of
military skill. Madame de Villars has seen another account
since the day of battle, in which it is said that the Chevalier
de Grignan performed wonders, both in respect of valor and
prudence. God preserve him ! for the courage of M. de Tu-
renne seems gone over to the enemy ; and they think nothing
impossible, since the defeat of Marshal de Crequi.

M. de la Feuillade went post to Versailles the other day,
where he surprised the king, and said to him, " Sire, some
(meaning Rochefort) send for their wives, and some come to

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 129

see them : I am come only to see your majesty, and to thank
you a thousand and a thousand times. I shall see nobody be-
sides your majesty, for it is to you I owe every thing." He
talked a long while with the king, and then taking his leave,
said, " Sire, I am going ; I beg you to make my compliments
to the queen and the dauphin, and to my wife and children.''
And he mounted his horse ; and in reality saw no other per-
son. This little sally pleased the king much ; he told the
oourt, laughing, how he had been made the bearer of M. de
Feuillade's compliments. It is a great thing to be happy ;
every thing then succeeds ; nothing is taken amiss.

LETTER XLVL

Paris, Friday Evening, Aug. 16, 1675.
At length, my dear, M. de la Trousse is found. I admire
his good fortune in this affair : after having performed won-
ders at the head of his battalion, he was surrounded by two
squadrons of the enemy's horse, so completely, that no one
knew how it would end ; when on a sudden he finds himself

prisoner to Whom ? The Marquis de Grana, with whom

he was intimate for six months at Cologne, and with whom he
had cultivated a close friendship. You may judge how he
will be treated ; he has a pretty little wound? which will fur-
nish him with an excellent plea for passing the vintage at La
Trousse ; for there is no reason to doubt that he will be re-
leased on his parole ; and, what is still better, will meet with
the most favorable reception at court. Nothing can exceed
the congratulations and compliments that have been made
him by all his friends on this occasion. I really pity him for
having so many thanks to return: if he were to have carved
his own fortune, could he have done it more completely to his
wish ? As for honest Sanzei, we have no news of him, which
does not look well. Marshal de Crequi is at Treves, at least
it is so reported, and that his people saw him cross the river,

6*

|3*

LETTERS TO

with three others, in a miserable little boat. His wife is dis«
tracted with grief, not having heard a syllable from himself:
for my part I really think he has been drowned, or else killed
by the peasants on his way to Treves. In short, matters ap-
pear to go badly on all sides, La Trousse excepted.

LETTER XLVII.

Paris, Wednesday, Aug. 28, 1675.
If I had the means of sending letters to you every day I
could easily contrive to write them. I sometimes do so even
now, though my letters do not go; but the pleasure of writ-
ing is reserved for you alone : to every one else I write, be-
cause I must. I have particulars to relate respecting M. de
Turenne. Madame d'Elbeuf,* who is for a few days at the
Cardinal be Bouillon's, invited me to dine with them yester-
day, and to share in their grief. Madame de la Fayette was
likewise there ; the purpose of our meeting was fully an-
swered, for there was not a dry eye among us. Madame d'Elbeuf
had a picture of the hero, admirably executed. All his people
arrived at eleven o'clock ; the poor creatures were already in
deep mourning, and bathed in tears ; three gentlemen came in
who were ready to die at the sight of the picture ; their cries
pierced every heart ; they could not utter a word ; his footmen,
his pages, his trumpeters, were all in tears, and made every
body else weep to see them. The first who was able to speak,
answered our mournful questions, and we prevailed on him to
relate the" manner of his death. It seems he was desirous of
confessing, and when he retired for that purpose, he gave his
orders for the evening, and was to have communicated the
next day, which was Sunday, when he expected to give battle.
He mounted on horseback at two o'clock the Saturday, after
having taken a little refreshment, and as he had many people
with him, he left them all at about thirty paces from the hill,

* Sister to Cardinal de Bouillon.

MADAME DE.GRI6NAN. 131

and said to young d'Elbeuf, " Nephew, stay you there : you
move round me so much, that I shall be known." M. Hamil-
ton, who happened to be near the place where he was going,
said to him, " Sir, come this way if you please, the enemy's
fire is directed to the place in which you are." " You are
right, sir," replied M. de Turenne ; " I would not willingly be
killed to-day ; this will do extremely well." He had scarcely
turned his horse, when he saw St. Hilaire, who, coming up to
him with his hat in his hand, desired him to cast his eye on a
battery he had just raised, pointing to the place. M. de Tu-
renne turned back, and at that very instant, without having
time to stop his horse, he had his arm and part of his body
torn to pieces by the same ball that carried off St. Hilaire's arm
and hand in which he held his hat. The gentleman, who was
watching him attentively, did not see him fall, for his horse
ran away with him as far as the spot where he had left young
d'Elbeuf ; he was leaning with his face over the pommel of
the saddle. The moment his horse stopped, this great man
fell off into the arms of his people, who were gathered round
him, twice opened wide his eyes, moved his lips a little, and
sank to eternal rest. Think of his death, and of part of his
heart being carried away ! His people immediately burst into
loud cries of lamentations, but M. Hamilton quieted them as
well as he could, and had young d'Elbeuf removed, who had
thrown himself upon his uncle's body frantic with grief, and
would not be dragged from it without violence. A cloak was
immediately thrown over the body, and it was placed by the
side of a hedge, where they kept watch over it in silence till a
carriage could be sent for to carry it to his tent; there it was
met by M. de Lorges, M. de Roye, and several others, who
were ready to expire with grief; but they were obliged to re-
strain themselves, and think of the important business that
had devolved on them. A military service was performed in
the camp, where tears and sorrow were the mourning ; the
officers, however, had each a crape scarf, the drums were cov-
ered with the same, they beat only a single stroke, the sol-

132 LETTERS TO

diers marched with their pikes trailing and pieces reversed ;
but the cries and lamentations of a whole army can not be
described without emotion. His two nephews assisted at this
mournful ceremony, I leave you to judge in what condition.
M. de Roye, though much wounded, would be carried thither.
I suppose the poor Chevalier de Grignan was overwhelmed
with grief. When the body was removed from the camp, to
be brought to Paris, the same scene of grief was renewed,
and in every place through which it passed, nothing was heard
but lamentations : at Langres, however, they exceeded even
this ; the bier was met by more than two hundred of the
principal inhabitants in mourning, followed by the common
people, and all the clergy in sacerdotal habits. In the town a
solemn service was performed, and they all voluntarily en-
tered into a contribution toward defraying the expenses, which
amounted to five thousand francs ; for they conducted the
body as far as the next town. "What say you to these natural
marks of affection, founded on the most extraordinary merit ?
He is to be brought to St. Denis this evening ; the people are
all gone to meet the body at a place about two leagues dis-
tant, from whence they will conduct it to a chapel, where it is
to be deposited for the present ; there will be a service per-
formed at St. Denis, till that at Notre Dame is celebrated,
which will be a solemn one. Such was our entertainment at
the cardinal's ; we dined, as you may suppose, melancholy
enough, and afterward did nothing but sigh till four o'clock.
Cardinal de Bouillon mentioned you, and took upon him to
answer for you, that, had you been in Paris you would have
made one in our sad party ; I assured him that you took no small
share in his grief. He intends to answer both your letter and
M. de Grignan's ; he desired me to say a thousand kind things
to you, .and so did the worthy d'Elbeuf, who, as well as her
son, has lost every thing. It was a good idea to undertake
thus to tell you what you know already as well as myself; but
these originals struck me, and I was glad to show you in what
way we forget M. de Turenne in this part of the world.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 133

M. de la Garde told me the other day, that in the enthusi-
asm of the wonders which were related of the Chevalier de
Grignan, he had advised his brothers* to bestir themselves on
the occasion, to support his interest at least for the present
year ; and that he found them both very well disposed to do
extraordinary things. This good La Garde is at Fontainebleau,
from whence he is to return in three days, to set out at last ;
for he longs to be gone, though courtiers in general seem to
be very leaden-heeled. The situation of poor Madame de
Sanzei is really deplorable ; we know nothing yet respecting
her husband ; he is neither dead nor alive, wounded nor pris-
oner. His people do not take the least notice of him in their
letters. M. de la Trousse, after having mentioned the report
of his being killed (this was the day of the action), has never
since mentioned a syllable about him, either to Madame de
Sanzei or to Coulanges,f so that we are quite at a loss what to
say to this distracted woman ; and yet it is cruel to let her re-
main in this state of uncertainty ; for my part, I am persuaded
her husband is killed ; the dust and blood must probably dis-
figure him so much as not to be known again, and he has
been stripped with the rest of the slain. Or he was perhaps
killed at a distance from any of the rest ; or by the country-
people on the road, and thrown into a hedge. I think it is
more probable that he has met with some such melancholy
fate, than that he has been taken prisoner without a word hav-
ing been heard respecting him.

And now, my dear, I must tell you that the abbe thinks
my journey so necessary, that I no longer oppose it ; I shall
not have him always with me, and therefore I ought to take
advantage of his good intentions toward me. It will be only
a trip of two months, for the good abbe is not the least dis-
posed to pass the winter there. He expresses himself very
sincerely on the subject, and you know I am always the dupe

* The Coadjutor of Aries, and the Abbede Grignan.
f Madame de Sevigne was sister to M. de Coulanges, and M. de la
Trousse was first cousiu to both.

134 LETTERS TO

of every thing that has the appearance of sincerity ; so much
the worse for those who deceive me. I conceive that it would
be very dull there in the winter ; long evenings may be com-
pared to long marches for tediousness. I was not dull the
winter you were with me ; you, who are young, might have
felt so, but do you remember our readings ? It is true, that
if every thing had been taken away that surrounded the table,
and even the book too, it is impossible to tell what would have
become of me. Providence will arrange every thing. I trea-
sure up all your sayings ; we get out of our dullness as we do
out of bad roads ; we see no one stop short in the middle of a
month, because he has not the courage to go through it ; it is
like dying, we see no one who does not know how to keep out
of this dilemma ; there are parts in your letters which I nei-
ther can nor will forget. Are my friends Corbinelli and M. de
Vardes with you ? I hope they are. In that case, I dare say,
there has been no deficiency of conversation among you ; you
have talked incessantly of the state of affairs, of the death of
M. de Turenne, and are at a loss to guess what will be the
consequences of it ; in fact, you are just like ourselves, though
you are in Provence. M. de Barillon supped here last night.
The conversation turned upon M. de Turenne, and the univer-
sal grief occasioned by his loss ; he entered largely into his
virtues, his love of truth, his love of virtue for its own sake,
and his reward in the practice of it ; he finished this eulogium
with adding, that no one could love and esteem M. de Turenne
without being the better for it. His company and conversa-
tion inspired such hatred of deceit and double-dealing, as raised
his friends above the generality of mankind. In this number
the chevalier was particularly distinguished as one for whom
this great man showed more than common esteem and affec-
tion, and who, on his side, was one of his greatest admirers.
We shall never see his equal in any age : I do not think we
are quite blind in the present day, at least those I meet are
not so, and this perhaps is boasting that I keep good company.
But I must tell you one word more of M. de Turenne, which I
hef>rd yesterday. You know Pertuis well, and his adoration

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 135

and attachment to M. de Turenne ; as soon as lie heard of his
death, he wrote his majesty the following note : " Sire, I have
lost M. de Turenne ; I feel my heart unable to support this
blow ; and being incapable of serving your majesty as I ought
to do, I humbly request your permission to resign my govern-
ment of Courtrai." Cardinal de Bouillon prevented the letter
from being given to the king ; but, fearing he might come in
person, he informed his majesty of the effect Pertuis' grief
had on him. The king appeared to enter with great goodness
and indulgence into his sentiments, and told Cardinal de
Bouillon that he esteemed Pertuis the more for this mark of
attachment to his friend and benefactor,* and that he thought
him too honest a man not to discharge his duty in whatever
situation he was in. This is a specimen of grief for this hero.
He had a patrimony of 40,000 livres a year ; and M. Bouche-
rat says, that after all his debts, and the several legacies he
has bequeathed, are paid, there will not remain more than
10,000. These are the vast treasures he had amassed during
a service of fifty years ! Adieu, my dearest child, I embrace
you a thousand times, and with inexpressible tenderness.

LETTER XLVIII.

Tuesday, September IT, 1675.
Here is an odd date for you : >^^0irC-5Tl>

Je suis dans un bateau, f/^y^ OF TFfR

K

Dans le courant de l'eau,/ TVPT? ^ITTV

Fort loin de mon chateau\JW *

I think I might add, >^N Z'TPCi

Ah quelle folielj

for the water is so very low, and we are so often aground, that

* He had been captain of the guard to M. de Turenne.
f I am here in a boat,

On the water afloat,

Erom my castle far remote.

X Ah, what folly is this !

136 LETTERS TO

I heartily wish for my carriage again, but that is out of reach
for some time. The water becomes dull when one is alone. A
Count des Chapelles and a Mademoiselle de Sevigne are want-
ing to enliven the scene. In short, it is mere folly to take a
boat at Orleans, or even at Paris ; but it is the fashion, as it is
at Chartres to buy chaplets. I told you I saw the Abbe
d'Effiat at his noble mansion. I wrote to you from Tours ;
from thence we went to Saumur, where we saw Vineuil, and
wept again over M. de Turenne. He seems greatly affected
with his loss ; you will pity him when I tell you he is in a
place where no one ever saw this hero. Vineuil is grown very-
old, very phthisicky, very driveling, and very devout ; but he
is still witty. He sends you a thousand and a thousand
compliments. It is thirty leagues from Saumur to Nantes ;
we determined to go there in two days, and to get into Nantes
this day. With this view we were upon the water some
part of the night, but fortunately we ran aground about two
hundred yards from the place where we were to go ashore to
sleep, and could not get out of the boat, so we put back and
landed at another place, and, following the barking of a dog,
we got, about midnight, to a little hut, but the most wretched
place you can possibly conceive; there we found two or three
old women spinning, and some fresh straw, upon which we all
lay down without taking off our clothes. I should have
laughed heartily at this scene, had it not been for thinking
of our poor abbe, whom I was vexed to have exposed to such
a fatiguing journey. At daybreak we re-embarked, but were
again so completely stranded, that it was above an hour before
we could get afloat again ; however, we were resolved to get
to Nantes, though against both wind and tide. We were
forced to row all the way. When we got there, I received
your letters, and as I find the post must pass through Ingrande,
I shall leave this little note by the way. I am very well, and
only want somebody to chat with. I shall write to you from
Nantes, as you may suppose. I am very impatient to hear
from you, and about M. de Luxembourg and his army, for my

MADAME DK GRIGNAN. 137

head has been in a sack these nine days. The History of the
Crusades is very amusing, particularly to those who have read
Tasso, and who see their old friends again in prose and in his-
tory, but with respect to the author's style, I am his very
humble servant. The Life of Origen is divine.*

LETTER XLIX.

1 The Eocks, Sunday, Oct. 20, 16*75.

I can not sufficiently admire the diligence and fidelity of the
post. I received on the 18th your letter of the 9th, that is,
in nine days only after date, which is all that can be desired.
But, my dear, we must soon put an end to our admirations ;
for, as you say, you are going still further ofi^ that we may
both be exactly in the spot which Providence has assigned us.
For my part, God knows, I acquit myself very ill in my resi
dence ; but you, heavens ! M. d' Angers (H. Arnauld) can not
do more. When I think, however, of our separation, and how
much I deserve to enjoy the pleasure of being with you, and
of all your affection for me, and then reflect that we are placed
at two different ends of the #globe, you must excuse me if I
can not view this part of our history with gayety of heart.
Common sense opposes it, and my infinite love still more. I
have nothing to do but take refuge in submission to the will
of Providence. I am very glad you have seen M. de la Garde ;
he does me great honor in approving my turn of mind : he is
a very good judge. I am sorry you are going to lose him so
soon, for he is really a worthy man. Your conversations must
have been endless. So he is to take the archbishop away to
La Garde. It was very well said of him, that he was like a
river which fertilized and made every country flourish through
which it passed. I find he did wonders at Grignan.

M. de Chaulnes is at Rennes with four thousand men ; he

* This is the work of Dufosse, of Port Royal. It had just been pub-
lished, with the Life of Tertullian, by the same author.

138 LETTERS TO

has removed the parliament to Vannes, which has occasioned
a terrible desolation. The ruin of Rennes brings with it that
of the whole province. Madame de Marbeuf is at Vitre ; she
has brought me a thousand compliments from Madame de
Chaulnes, and from M. de Vins, who intends paying me a visit.
I am not under the least apprehension about these troops on
my own account, but I can not help feeling for the despair and
desolation our poor province suffers at present. It is supposed
we shall not have any assembly of the states here, or if we
have, it will be only to buy off the taxes which we gave two
million five hundred thousand livres to have taken off only two
years ago, and which have been all laid upon our shoulders
again ; and, perhaps, they may set a price too upon bringing
the parliament back to Rennes. M. de Montmoron* is fled
out of the town, to a seat belonging to one of his friends, at
about three leagues distance from hence, that he may avoid
hearing the cries and lamentations of the people at seeing their
dear parliament removed. You see I am quite a Breton, but,
you know, it is owing to the air I breathe, and to something
else, for every creature, without distinction, is in affliction
throughout the province. Be under no concern about my
health, my dearest child ; I am extremely well. Madame de
Tarente has given me an essence that has cured her of vapors
that were worse than mine : two drops are to be taken for fif-
teen days following, in any beverage that is drunk at table,
and it cures effectually. She has told me circumstances of its
efficacy, which have all the air of those in the comedy of the
Medecin Force ; but I believe them all, and I would take some
of the essence now if it were not that I think it a pity to make
use of so admirable a remedy when I have no real occasion for
it. I will send you, some time or other, the remainder of the
prosperities of the boat. You will make La Plessis too vain,
for I shall tell her how much you love her. Except what I
told you the other day, I do not think a better creature
exists. She is here every day. I have some of your excellent

* He was a Sevigne, and dean of the parliament of Brittany.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 139

Hungary water in my pocket ; I am quite in love with it ; it
cures all my sorrows ; I wish I could send some of it to Rennes.

My woods continue very beautiful still, and the verdure is a
hundred times finer than at Livri ; I do not know whether
this proceeds from the nature of the trees themselves, or from
the refreshing rains we have here ; but there is certainly no
comparison ; every thing here looks as green now as in the
month of May. The leaves that fall are brown, it is true, but
those that remain on the trees are not at all faded ; you never
observed this beauty in them. As to that blessed tree that
saved your life, I am often tempted to build a little chapel
there. It seems to carry its head above all the rest, and ex-
ceeds them in bulk as well as stature, and with very good
reason, for it saved you. I may, at least, repeat to it the
stanza of Medor, in Ariosto, in which he wishes happiness and
peace to the cave that had given him so much pleasure. Our
sentences are not at all disfigured ; I visit them frequently,
I think they are rather increased, and two trees that are close
to each other, often present us with two contrary sentiments,
"La lontananza ogni grand piaga salda" * and " Piaga
d'amor non si sana mais"\ There are five or six thus contra-
dictory. The good princess was charmed with them, as I am
with the letter you have written our good abbe, on Jacob's
journey to the land of promise, in your closet.

Madame de Lavardin has informed me of what is still to be
kept secret for a few days longer, that D'Olonne is going to
marry his brother to Mademoiselle de Noirmoutier. He gives
him all his lands in Poitou, besides a great quantity of jewels
and furniture. They are at La Ferte-Milon, where this curious
affair is to be made up. I never thought D'Olonne would
have given himself any -concern about his name or family.

* Time is a cure for wounds however deep.
f The wounds of love are never to be healed.

\140, LETTERS TO

LETTER L.

The Rocks, "Wednesday, November 6, 16*15.

What a delightful letter have you written to me, my dear
child ! What thanks do I not owe you for employing your
hand, your eyes, your head, your time, in composing so agree-
able a volume ! I have read it over and over, and shall read
it again with pleasure and attention. I can read nothing that
is more interesting ; you satisfy my curiosity in every thing I
wish. I admire your care in giving me such punctual an-
swers. This makes a conversation perfect, regular, and ex-
tremely entertaining. But I must beg you not to destroy
yourself; this fear makes me renounce the pleasure of having
frequently such entertainments. You can not doubt my
generosity in sparing you the fatigue of immoderate writing.

I comprehend with pleasure the high esteem that is paid to
M. de Grignan in Provence, after what I have seen of it.
This is a pleasure you are scarcely sensible of; you are too
much accustomed to be loved and honored in a province
where you command. If you saw the horror, the detestation,
the hatred, that the people have here for their governor, you
would feel more than you do the pleasure of being adored
every where. What affronts ! what injuries ! what menaces !
what reproaches ! the very stones fly round him. I do not
believe M. de Grignan would accept this post upon such con-
ditions.

You mention to me the paper you have signed so heroically
in favor of M. de Grignan.* You say you had no doubt
which way the honorable sentiments of Cardinal de Retzf in-
clined. I do not say any thing of mine ; it was enough that
you could discern what his counsels tended to. In certain
delicate affairs, we do not presume directly to advise, but we
represent the case ; the common friends of both do what is

* It appears that Madame de Grignan had entered into a bond fof
her husband. f Cardinal de Retz advised her not to sign.

MADAME DE GBIGNAN. 141

proper, that there may be n© jarring opposition in the interest
of those they love. But with a soul so perfectly generous and
go 3d as yours, we consult only ourselves, and act precisely as
you have done. Have you not seen how much you have
been admired ? Are you not pleased that you owe to none
but yourself so noble a resolution 1 You would have done
nothing blamable, if you had refused to sign — you would
only have acted like the rest of the world ; but by consenting
to it, you have exceeded all the world. In a word, my child,
enjoy the beauty of your own action, and do not think meanly
of us for not having prompted you to it. On a similar occa-
sion, we should perhaps have acted as you have done, and you
would have advised as we did ; it is all well. I am very
much pleased that M. de Grignan is so good as to recompense
this mark of your friendship and affection by a greater atten-
tion to his affairs. The prudence you commend him for, is
the truest mark of his gratitude you could have wished.

LETTER LI.

The Rocks, Sunday, December 1, 16T5.
Well, my dear, it seems now settled that I am to receive
two of your packets together, and miss one post ; you should
see the faces I make, and how I receive it in comparison with
those that come regularly. I am of your opinion, my child,
and would give a great deal to be as easy about answering
letters as the coadjutor is, and keep them in my pocket for
a month or two without troubling my head about them.
Well, it is a gift from heaven certainly, this happy indiffer-
ence ! Madame de Langeron used to say of visits, and I apply
it to every thing : " What I do fatigues me, and what I omit
to do vexes me." I think this is very well said, and I feel it
sensibly. I am always exact, however, in my answers. It is
with pleasure I give you the top of the basket ; that is, you
have the very flower of my mind, my head, my eyes, my pen,

142 LETTERS TO

my desk — the rest fare as they can. I have as much amuse-
ment in chatting to you, as labor and fatigue in writing to
others. I am perfectly stunned with the great news that
abounds in Europe.

I suppose the coadjutor has shown Madame de Fontevraud
the letter he received from you. You are ignorant of its
value. You write like an angel ; I read your letters with ad-
miration. You no sooner set out than you reach the goal.
Do you remember the minuet which you danced so well, and
closed in such excellent time, when the other creatures were
not at the end of theirs till the next day ? The late madame
and yourself were famous for this ; we used to call it gaining
ground. Your letters are just the same.

As for your poor little frater, I know not where he has hid
himself ; it is three weeks now since I had a line from him.
He made no mention of the pretty airing upon the Meuse,
though every body believes it here ; his fortune is really verj
hard, poor lad. I do not see how he can manage the affair of
his promotion, unless Lauzun will take the guidonage in part
of payment, with some other little additions we will endeavor
to raise ; but to buy the ensign's place, and have the guidon-
age left upon our hands, will never do. Your reasoning upon
the matter is very just ; we all acquiesce in it, and shall be
veiy well contented to mount after the other two,* provided
the guidon serves as the first step.

I shall finish the year here very peaceably. There are
times when all places are indifferent, and a solitude like this
not unpleasant. Madame de la Fayette returns you all your
civilities ; she has very bad health, and poor M. de Limoges
still worse ; he has resigned all his benefices to the king ; I
fancy his son, the Abbe de la Fayette, will have one of his
abbeys. Poor Gascony has been as roughly handled as we
have been. We have six thousand troops sent down to pass

* The Marquis de la Trousse, and the Marquis de la Fare ; the one
captain-lieutenant, and the other sub-lieutenant, in the dauphin's gens-
d'armes.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 143

the winter among: us : if it were not for the misconduct of
the provinces, I do not know how they would be able to dis-
pose of their troops. I can not think peace is so near : do
you remember all our reasoning upon the subject of war,
and how many there must be killed ? This is always a certain
prophecy, and so is that, that your letters can never tire me,
long as they may be : ah ! you will find no chimera in this
hope, they are my choicest reading. Ripert brings you a
third volume of the Moral Essays, which are worth your pe-
rusal. I never met with greater energy than there is in the
style of these writers : they make use of no words but what
are in common use, and yet they appear perfectly new, by the
elegant manner in which they dispose them. In the morning
I read the history of France ; in the afternoon, some serious
subjects in my woods ; such as the Essays, the Life of Saint
Thomas of Canterbury, which I think delightful, or the Icono-
clastes ; and in the evening, things of a lighter nature : this is
my constant rule. I hope you continue to read Josephus ;
take courage, my dear, and go on boldly to the end. If you
read the history of the Crusades, you will meet with two
illustrious men who were your ancestors, but not a word about
the great family of V***, that holds its head so high at pres-
ent : but I am persuaded there are some passages which will
make you throw aside the book, and curse the Jesuit ; * and
yet upon the whole it is an admirable history.

LETTER LE.

The Rocks, "Wednesday, Dec. 11, 1675.
A little patience, my dear child, brings us to the accomplish-
ment of our wishes : I have received the two packets of let-
ters from you that I should have received before ; but they are

* Father Maimbourg, author of the History of the Crusades. The
physician, in the Lettres Persanes, gives as a recipe for the asthma, to
read all the works of this father, stopping only at each period.

144 LETTERS TO

come at last, and you will do me no more than justice to be-
lieve that I am highly delighted to have them. I thank you
that notwithstanding all your philosophy, you enter into all my
melancholy reflections on the immense distance that separates
us ; you sympathize with me ; you seem afflicted as well as
myself with this disposition of Providence ; but you encoun-
ter it with more courage than I do, who always feel from it
some new increase of sorrow. I am continually meditating
on the past, for which the present and the future can never
make me amends. It is an ample field in which to exercise a
heart so tender and ill-defended as mine. I can not but ad-
mire those good ladies who make a duty of their inclination ;
there is La Troche for instance, who has so well turned and
wound her good fortune, that she is at length settled at her
ease in the good city of Paris, making it the seat of her em-
pire and the field of all her operations. She has fixed her son
at court, in spite of wind and tide, and makes it her business to
be always near him. As for Marbeuf, she had begun, even in
her husband's time, and now lays no restraint upon herself ;
she has taken a lease of a house in Paris for a hundred years,
and most humbly takes her leave of poor Brittany : while you,
my dear child, who were born and bred in this country, you
whom I have always so fondly loved, and so ardently wished
to have forever with me, are driven to the furthest end of the
world by the storms of adverse fortune; but, if I mean to
put an end to my letter, I must pass lightly over these reflec-
tions, and resume my courage in the flattering hope of a
change : d'Hacqueville and I indulge some pleasing dreams of
that kind ; but this is not a time to communicate them to you.
Let us return to the miseries of this poor province.

Every place is full of warriors ; there are to be some at
Vitre, notwithstanding the princess is there. Monsieur, when
he writes to her, styles her his good aunt ; his dear aunt ; but
I do not find that she is better treated than others. There are
to be troops at Guerche, the estate of the Marquis de Villeroi ;
and from thence they are to spread themselves among the

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 145

country people, to rob and strip them. This is a heavy dis-
aster upon poor Brittany, that never experienced any thing of
the kind before. Our governor has received a power to grant
a general amnesty, which he disperses with one hand, and
with the other lets loose eight thousand soldiers, over whom
he has as much command as you have : they have all their
orders. M. de Pommereuil is expected here every day; "he
has the inspection of this little army, and may very soon boast
a fine government. He is the best and wisest of the robe ;
he is my friend ; but I doubt whether he will be as tractable
as your intendant, whom you manage so excellently ; I am
afraid he will be changed. I can give you no information to-
day respecting Languedoc ; in the mean time content your-
self with some from Guienne ; I find they are well protected,
and have procured a considerable mitigation of their burden.
Alas ! we are not so happy ; our protections, if we had any,
would do us more harm than good, by the animosity against
us of two individuals. I believe we may still find, or at least
promise to find, the three millions demanded of us, without
ruining our friend ; * for he is so beloved by the states, that
they would do any thing rather than he should suffer. And
this,*I think, is enough upon the subject.

I am rejoiced that you are not returned to Grignan ; it
would have been only an additional fatigue and expense to
you. Prudence and economy, for which the good abbe de-
sires me to thank you, have rendered that step unnecessary.
Let me know if the dear little ones are to come to you. We
have most delightful weather here, and we are making some
new walks, which will be very beautiful. My son is very
good, and helps to amuse us ; he enters into the spirit of the
place, and has brought no more of the warrior or of the cour-
tier with him into this retreat, than is sufficient to enliven
conversation. When it does not rain we are not so much to
be pitied as at a distance it may be supposed ■ the time we
have fixed to spend here will pass like the rest.

* M. de Harrouis.

7

146 LETTERS TO

My letter has not been given to Louvois ; the whole affair
is negotiating between Lauzun and myself ; if he will take the
guidonage, we have offered to make a small addition to it ; if
he resolves to sell his post outright, which would be very un-
reasonable, he must look for a purchaser on his side, as we
shall on ours ; that is all. I have written to the chevalier to
condole with him on our not having met at Paris ; we should
have made curious lamentations together on our last year's
party, and should have renewed our tears for the loss of M. de
Turenne. I know not what idea you have of our princess ; I
assure you she is no Artemisia ;* her heart is like wax, it easily
takes impression ; she makes a boast of it, and says pleasantly
enough that she has a ridiculous heart ; this is spoken in gene-
ral terms, but the world is rather more particular in its appli-
cations. I am in hopes I shall be able to keep this folly with-
in bounds, by the frequent speeches I make (as if I intended
nothing by them) on the detestable light in which those wo-
men are held, who give too great a rein to their passions, and
how much they subject themselves thereby to contempt. I
talk miraculously sometimes ; I am heard and approved as
much as can be expected. Indeed, I consider it quite a duty
to talk thus ; and should think it an honor to be instrumental
in working a reformation.

I am tired to death with the barrenness of news ; we stand
in great need of some event, as you say, let it be at whose ex-
pense it will ; as long as we have no more Turennes to lose,
vogue la galere. You tell me extraordinary things ; I read
them, admire them, believe them, and then you send me word
they are not true ; I well know the style and braggart of the
provinces. You judge superficially of our governor, when
you say you should have acted as he did, had you been in his
place ; I know you would not ; neither did the king's service
require it. Ah ! what is become of the excellent understand-

* The affectionate and chaste wife of Mausolus, king of Caria, whoso
ashes she drank after his death.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 14*7

ing you had last winter ? This is no time to think of deputa-
tions ; let us see peace restored, and then we shall have time
to think of every thing.

As to the religion of the Jews, I said, when reading their
history, that " if God had given me grace to have been born a
Jew,"* I should have liked it better than any other except the
true religion. I admire its magnificence ; but you must ad-
mire it still more, on account of its year of rest, and of dress-
ing-gowns, which would have given you an opportunity of
being a shining example of piety in your elbow-chair ; never
would sabbath have been better kept. Hi pert has received
the Moral Essays ; they contain several treatises, and among
the rest one that is particularly pleasing ; you will guess which
I mean. I am delighted with your good health and beauty,
for I love you truly. I often wish for you in these woods, the
air of which, as well as that of Livri, is a great preservative to
the complexion. Our good abbe praises you highly for your
care in discharging your debts ; for that, in his estimation, is
the law and the prophets ; and as M. de Grignan is so prudent,
I will embrace him notwithstanding his beard ; but do you
know that your little brother's beard has the presumption to
rival it ? it is to much purpose ! Send me word of your suc-
cess at play. It seems to me as if I saw your little fingers
taking out of the pool ; but these times are past ; good and
evil travel on the same road, but they leave different impres-
sions. You have given a great dinner ; where was I ? for I
know all ; I see all the magnificence from hence. You express
yourself admirably on the marriage of the little prince (De
Marsan) and the marechale ; the disproportion is doubtless
great, but suppose he should have escaped it ! Believe me,
you have no need of my letters, you can write delightfully
without a theme. But I must reduce myself at last to Solon's

* In allusion to an expression of M. de Rochefoucault, who said,
" If God had given me grace to have been born a Turk, I should have
died a Turk."

48 LETTERS TO

rule, "Nothing is to be praised on this side the grave;" which
is a heavy restriction for me, who dearly love to praise what is
praise-worthy ; besides, who can stay so long ? For my part,
I shall always go on in my old way : adieu, my ever-lovely
and beloved child.

LETTER LEI.

The Rocks, Sunday January 12, 16V 6.

You may fill your letters with whatever you please, and still
be assured that I read them with great pleasure and equal ap-
probation ; no one can write better than you do, and it is not
my friendship only that leads me to form this opinion.

You delight me by saying you like the Moral Essays ; did I
not tell you they would suit your taste ? As soon as I began
to read them, I could think of nothing but of sending them to
you ; you know I am communicative, and do not like to en-
joy a pleasure alone. If this book had been written ' on pur-
pose for you, it could not have been more calculated to please
you. What language ! what energy in the arrangement of
the words ! I think I never read French but in this book.
The resemblance of charity to self-love, and of the heroic
modesty of M. de Turenne and the prince to Christian
humility— but I forbear. This work deserves to be praised
from beginning to end, but I should write a strange letter if I
were to do so. I am very glad, however, you like it, and I
' have a better opinion of my own judgment in consequence.
You do not admire the life of Josephus ; but it is sufficient if
you approve his actions and his history. Did you not think
him very happy in the cave, where they drew lots who should
stab himself the last ?

We laughed till we cried at the story of the girl who sung
the indecent song, for which she confessed aloud in the
church. Nothing can be more novel and amusing. I think
she was in the right ; the confessor certainly wished to hear

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 140

the song, for he was not satisfied with the girl's accusation of
herself. I fancy I see him bursting with laughter the first at
this adventure. We often send you ridiculous stories, but we
can not surpass this. I always talk of Brittany, and it is to
encourage you to talk of Provence ; it is a country in which I
am more interested than in any other. My journey thither
takes away all possibility of being tired with what you tell
me, because I am acquainted with every body, and understand
every thing perfectly. I have not forgotten the beauty of
your winters. Our season is very fine here ; I walk every day,
and have almost made a new park round the waste land at
the end of the mall. I am planting four rows of trees there ;
it will be a great improvement, for all this part is now uniform
and cultivated.

But I shall take my departure, in spite of all these charms,
in February. The abbe's affairs are still more urgent than
yours, which has prevented me from offering our house to
Mademoiselle de Meri ; she has complained of this to several
persons, I understand, but I know not what reason she has to
do so. The worthy is in raptures with your letters ; I often
show him passages that I know will please him. He thanks
you for what you say of the Moral Essays ; he was delighted
with them himself. The little girl is still with us ; she has an
active little mind which has never been exercised, and we take
pleasure in improving it. She is in perfect ignorance ; it is an
amusement to us to give her some general knowledge : a few
words of this great universe, of empires, countries, kings, re-
ligions, and wars, of astronomy and geography. It is pleasant
to see the unfolding of all these things in a little head which
has never beheld a town or a river, and who thought the
whole world extended no further than our park ; she amuses
us highly. I informed her to-day of the capture of Wismar ;
she knows we are sorry for it, because the king of Sweden
is our ally. Such are our amusements. The princess is
delighted that her daughter has taken Wismar; she is a
true Dane. Sbe has asked monsieur and madame to ex-

150 LETTERS TO

empt her entirely from the soldiery, so that we shall all be
safe.

Madame de la Fayette is very grateful for your letter ; she
thinks you very polite and obliging. But does it not appear
strange to you that her brother-in-law is not dead, and that
such mistakes should arise at the short distance of Toulon and
Aix ? Upon the questions you put to the f rater I decide
boldly, that he who is angry, and shows his anger, is prefer-
able to the deceiver, who conceals his malignity under fair and
specious appearances. There is a stanza in Ariosto descriptive
of guile.* I would transcribe it, but I have not time to
(ook for it. The good D'Hacqueville stills talks to me of the
journey of St. Geran, and to prove how short her stay will be,
he says she can only receive one of my letters at Palisse.
This is how he treats an acquaintance of a week ; he is just
the same with respect to others, but this is excellent. I forgot
to say that I had thought like you of the different ways of

* "We shall probably gratify the reader by inserting this stanza:

Havea piaceval viso, abito onesto,
Un umil valger d'occhi, un andar grave,
Un parlar si benigao, e si modesto
Che parea Gabriel, che dicesse : Ave,
Era brutta e deforme in tutto il resto
Ma nasconde queste fattezze prave
Con lungo abito, e largo, e sotto quello
Attosicato avea sempre il coltello.

Orlando Furioso. Canto xiv.

Her garb was decent, lovely was her face,
Her eyes were bashful, sober was her pace ;
"With speech whose charms might every heart assail,
Like his who gave the blest salute of — Hail !
But all deformed and brutal was the rest,
Which close she covered with her ample vest,
Beneath whose folds, prepared for bloody strife,
Her hand for ever grasped a poisoned knife.

Hoole's Translation. Book xiv

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 151

painting the human heart, some white and others blacker than
black. You know what color mine is of for you.

LETTER LIV.

(MADAME DE SEVIGNE DICTATES HER SON WRITES.)

The Rocks, Monday, Feb. 3, 1676.
Guess, my dear child, what it is that comes the quickest,
and goes off the slowest ; that brings you nearest to health,
and removes you the furthest from it ; that throws you into
the most agreeable situation imaginable, and, at the same time,
hinders you from enjoying it ; that flatters you with the most
pleasing hopes, and keeps you the longest from the accomplish-
ment of them. Can not you guess ? Do you give it up ?
Why, it is the rheumatism. I have had it these three and
twenty days ; since the fourteenth day I have been free from
fever and pain, and in this delightful situation, thinking my-
self strong enough to walk, which is the summit of my wishes,
I find myself swelled all over — feet, legs, hands, arms ; and this
swelling, which they call my cure, and in reality is so, is the
sole occasion of my present vexation ; were I good for any
thing, I might gain myself some credit by it. However, I be-
lieve the enemy is conquered, and that in two days I shall be
able to walk. Larmechin gives me great hope of this. I every
day receive letters from our friends at Paris, congratulating
me on my recovery. I have taken M. de Lorme's opening
powders, which have been of great service to me ; I am going
to take them again ; they are a never-failing remedy in these
cases. After this attack I am promised an eternal succession
of health. God grant it. My first step will be to return to
Paris. I desire you, therefore, my dear, to calm all your
fears ; you see what a faithful account we have given you of
the affair ; let that make you easy.

152 LETTERS TO

LETTER LV.

Paris, Wednesday, April 15, 1676.

I am very melancholy, my dear ; my poor boy is just gone ;
he has so many little social virtues that are the charm of so-
ciety, that were he only an acquaintance I should regret his
loss. He desired me, over and over again, to tell you that he
forgot to take notice to you of the story of your Proteus, who
was at one time a capuchin, at another time a galley-slave ; he
was highly amused at it. It is supposed we are going to un-
dertake the siege of Cambray ; this is so extraordinary a step,
that every one thinks we have had intelligence with some one
in the place. If we lose Philipsburg, it will be very difficult
to repair the breach : vederemo, we shall see. But still we
reason and make almanacs, all of which end with, the king's
star will prevail.

At length Marshal Bellefond has cut the thread that tied
him here. Sanguin has purchased his place* for 55,000 livres,
and a brevet de retenue of 350,000. This is a fine settlement,
and an assurance of a cordon bleu.f M. de Pomponne has
paid me a very cordial visit ; all your friends have exerted
themselves wonderfully. I do not go out yet. The cold winds
retard the cure of my hands, and yet I write better than I did,
as you may see. I turn myself at night on my left side ; I
eat with my left hand : these are left hand performances. My
face is very little altered ; you would soon discover that you
have seen it somewhere before ; it is because I have not been
bled, and have endeavored to get cured of my illness without
such remedies. I thank you for mentioning the pigeons to
me. Where has the little one acquired this timidity ? I am
afraid you will throw the blame upon me : you cast a sus-

* Of premier maitre-d'hotel, or lord chamberlain, to the king.

f M. de Sanguin was not created a knight of the king's order at the
promotion in 1688, but the Marquis de Livri his son, who was premier
maitre-d'hotel, was comprehended in that of 1724.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 153

picious eye toward me. This humor will, I dare say, pass off,
and you will not be obliged to make a monk of him. I am
resolved to go to Vichi ; they have set me against Bourbon on
account of the air. The Marechale d'Etrees wishes me to go
to Vichi ; she says it is a delightful country. I have told you
what I think of that affair ; either resolve to return hither
with me, or do not come at all ; for a fortnight will only dis-
turb me with constant thoughts of a separation, and will be
on the whole a foolish and useless expense. You know how
dear the sight of you is to me, so take your own measures.

I wish you had finished the bargain about your estate : M.
de Pomponne tells me it is raised to a marquisate. I desired
him to make it a dukedom : he assured me it would give him
great pleasure to do so, and that he would use all expedition
in drawing up the patents. This is a considerable step. I am
delighted to hear the pigeons are so well. How does the little
tiny, or rather the great fat one do ? I love him dearly, for
resolving to live against wind and tide. But I can not forget
my little girl ;* I suppose you will determine on putting her
to Saint Marie, according to the resolutions you adopt this
summer ; all depends upon that. You seem satisfied with the
devotions of Passion and Easter weeks : you shut yourself up
at Grignan. For my part, my thoughts were not affected with
any thing. I had no object to strike the senses. I ate meat till
Good Friday, and had only the comfort of being very distant
from any opportunity of committing sin. I told La Mousse
you remembered him, and he advises you to make the most
of your man of wit. Adieu, my dear child.

LETTER LVI.

Paris, Wednesday, April 29, 1676.
I must begin by telling you that Conde was token by storm
on Saturday night. The news at first made my heart beat ;

* Marie-Blanche d'Athemar, born the 15th November, 1610.

7*

154 LETTERS TO

I feared the victory had cost us dear, but it does not prove so ;
we have lost some men, but none of any note ; this may be
reckoned a complete happiness. Larei, the son of M. Laine,
who was killed in Candia, or his brother, is dangerously
wounded. You see how soon our old heroes are forgotten.

Madame de Brinvilliers is not so comfortable as I am ; she
is in prison, and endeavors to pass her time there as pleasantly
as she can ; she desired yesterday to play at piquet, because
she was dull. Her confession has been found ; it informs us
that at the age of seven years she ceased to be a virgin ; that
she had ever since gone on at the same rate ; that she had
poisoned "her father, her brothers, one of her children, and
herself; but the last was only to make trial of a counter-poi-
son. Medea was a saint compared with her. She has owned
this confession to be her own writing ; it was an unaccounta-
ble folly ; but she says she was in a high fever when she wrote
it, and that it was an act of madness or frenzy, which does
not deserve a serious thought.

The queen has been twice at the Carmelites with Madame
de Montespan. The latter set on foot a lottery ; she collected
every thing that could be useful to the nuns ; this was a great
novelty and amusement in the convent. She conversed a long
time with sister Louise* de la Misericorde, and asked her
whether it was really true that she was as happy there as it
had been generally reported. She replied, " I am not happy,
but I am contented." Quanto talked to her a great deal of
the brother of monsieur ; and asked her if she had no message
to send him, and what she should say to him for her. She
replied in the sweetest tone and manner possible, though per-
haps a little piqued at the question ; " Whatever you please,
madam, whatever you please." Fancy this to be expressed
with all the grace, spirit, and modesty, which you so well un-
derstand. Quanto afterward wished for something to eat, and
sent to purchase some ingredient that was necessary for a sauce
she prepared herself, and which she ate with a wonderful ap-

* Madame de la Valliere.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 155

petite. I tell you the simple fact without the least embellish-
ment. When I think of the letter you wrote me last year
about M. de Vivonne, I consider all I send you as a burlesque.
To what lengths will not folly lead a man wh<
deserving of such exaggerated praise !

LETTER LVII.

Paris, Friday, July"
At length it is all over : La Brinvilliers is in the air ; after
her execution her poor little body was thrown into a large fire,
and her ashes dispersed by the wind, so that whenever we
breathe, we shall inhale some particles of her, and by the com-
munication of the minute spirits, we may be all infected with
the desire of poisoning, to our no small surprise. She was
condemned yesterday ; and this morning her sentence was
read to her, which was to perform the amende honorable in the
church of Notre-Dame ; and, after that, to have her head cut
off, her body burned, and her ashes thrown into the air. They
were for giving her the question, but she told them there was
no occasion for that, and that she would confess every thing ;
accordingly, she was till five o'clock in the evening relating
the history of her life, which has been more shocking than
was even imagined. She gave poison to her father ten times
successively, but without effect, and also to her brother, and
several others, at the same time preserving the appearance of
the greatest love and confidence. She has said nothing against
Penautier. Notwithstanding this confession, they gave her
the question, ordinary and extraordinary, the next morning ;
but this extorted nothing more from her. She desired to
speak with the procurator-general : no one yet knows the sub-
ject of their conversation. At six o'clock she was carried in a
cart, with no other covering than her shift, and with a cord
round her neck, to the church of Notre-Dame, to perform the
amende honorable ; after which, she was put again into the

166 LETTERS TO

same cart, where I saw her extended on a truss of straw, with
a confessor on one side, and the hangman on the other ; in-
deed, my child, the sight made me shudder. Those who saw
the execution say she mounted the scaffold with great courage.
I was on the bridge of Notre-Dame, with the good d'Escars ;
never was Paris in such commotion, nor its attention so fixed
upon one event. Yet, ask many people what they saw, and
they will tell you they saw no more than I did, who was not
present ; in short, the whole day has been dedicated to this

tragedy.

—

LETTER LVIH.

Livri, Wednesday, Nov. 4, 1676.
Nothing can be more true than the proverb which says,
that liberty is destroyed by uncertainty. Were you under
any sort of restraint, you would have determined what to do
long ago, and not have been like Mohammed's coffin, suspended
between heaven and earth ; one of the loadstones would cer-
tainly, by this time, have got the better of the other. You
would no longer be dragooned, which is a very unpleasant
state. The voice you heard, in passing the Durance, exclaim,
Ah, mother t mother ! would pierce to Grignan : or at least,
that which counseled you to leave it, would not haunt you at
Briare ; for which reason, I maintain that nothing can be more
opposite in its nature to liberty than indifference and indeci-
sion. Can it be possible that the sage La Garde, who has, it
seems, resumed all his wonted wisdom, has likewise lost his
free will ? is he incapable of advising you ? can he be at a
loss to decide in this important point ? you have seen that I
decide like one of the councils. But how is it that La Garde,
who is coming to Paris himself, can not contrive that his jour-
ney may take place at the same time with yours ? If you do
come, it would be no bad thought to take the way of Sully ;
the little duchess would certainly convey you as far as Ne-
mours ; at least, you would find some friend or other, from

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 157

day to day, so that you would have a relay of friends, till you
found yourself in your own apartment. You would have met
with a better reception last time, but your letter came so late
that you took every body by surprise, and had nearly missed
me, which would have been a fine circumstance indeed ; but
we will contrive to keep clear of this inconvenience in future.
I can not help praising the chevalier,* who arrived in Paris on
Friday evening, and dined here on Saturday ; was is not very
good of him ? I was delighted to see him, and I assure you
we spoke with great freedom of your scruples. I am now
going to take a trip to Paris. I must see M. de Louvois on
y mr brother's account, who is still here without leave, which
\ exes me not a little. I want to talk to M. Colbert likewise,
about your pension : these two visits are all I have to make. I
have some thoughts of going to Versailles, but will acquaint
you whether I do so or not. In the mean time, we have the
finest weather imaginable ; the country has yet put on none
of its horrors, and St. Hubert has favored the hunter ex-
tremely.

We are still reading Saint Augustine with pleasure : there
is something so great and noble in his* ideas, that all the mis-
chief that weak minds can possibly receive from his doctrine,
falls infinitely short of the good which others may derive from
the perusal. You will imagine I give myself airs of a learned
lady ; but when you see in what a familiar style this is writ-
ten, you will cease to wonder at my capacity. You tell me
that if you did not love me a great deal more than you say,
you should love me very little : I am strangely tempted to
scold you for this, even though I should risk the saying an
unkind or an uncivil thing : but no ; I am fully persuaded
you love me ; and God knows much better than it is possible
for you to do, what a strong affection I entertain for you. I
am glad to hear Pauline is like me, she will serve to put you
in mind of me. " Ah ! mother, there is no need of that.17

* De Grignan.

158 LETTERS TO

LETTER LIX.

Livri, Friday, Nov. 6, 1676.

Surely there never was so brilliant a letter as your last ; I
had some thoughts of sending it back, that you might have
the pleasure of perusing it. I could not help wondering while
I read it, how it was possible to wish so ardently to receive no
more. This, however, is the affront I put on your letters : you
seem to treat mine much more civilly.

This Reimond is certainly hem ! hem ! with the head-dress
you know so well ; she has dressed in this style, as you prop-
erly observe, that she might seem qualified to hear the music
of the blessed above ; and our sisters have done the same
from the wish of obtaining a fund of seven thousand livres,
with a pension of a thousand, by which she is enabled* " to
go abroad when she likes, and she likes it very often." We
have never had such merchandize before ; but the beauty of
our house causes us to overlook every thing ; for my own part,
I am quite delighted with it : for in my opinion both her
apartments and her voice are divine, hem, hem.

The dates you mention in speaking of Madame de Soubise,
are, thank, God, among those which have escaped my mem-
ory. Some marked incivility must certainly have been
shown during the festivities at Versailles. Madame de Cou-
langes informs me that the tooth has disappeared since the
day before yesterday ; in that case, you will conclude they can
have no tooth against her. You are very amusing upon my
friend's f illness, and at the same time it is all true. The
quartan ague of our friend of the suburbs,^ is happily at an
end. I have sent your letter to the chevalier, § without ap-
prehension or reproof. I love him sincerely ; and as for my
pigeon, I wish I could give him a kiss ; I have some idea in

* Madame de Sevigne recants a little. See the Letter of the 21st
October. •)• Madame de Coulanges.

\ Madame de la Fayette. § De Grignan.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 159

inj head, I know not how truly, that leads me to think I shall
one day or other see all these little folks. I can not under-
stand the eight months' child ; pray is she likely to live a
century ? I fancy the gentlemen that fought it out so bravely
in the streets, are in a fair way to live as long. It would
really be a very pretty and just punishment for a battle in the
midst of summer. Adieu, my dear lovely child, I shall finish

this in the good city of Paris.

Friday, at Paris.

So ! here I am. I have been dining at the worthy Bag-
nol's, where I found Madame de Coulanges in this charming
apartment, embellished with the golden rays of the sun,
where I have often seen you, almost as beautiful and as bril-
liant as he. The poor convalescent gave me a hearty wel-
come, and is now going to write two lines to you ; it is, for
aught I know, something from the other world, which I am
sure you will be very glad to hear. She has been giving me
an account of a new dress called transparencies. Pray, have
you heard of it ? It is an entire suit of the finest gold and
azure brocade that can be seen, over which is a black robe,
either of beautiful English lace, or velvet chenille like the
winter laces you have seen ; this occasions the name of trans-
parency, which is, you see, a black suit, and a suit of gold
and azure, or any other color, according to the fancy of the
wearer, as is all the fashion at present. This was the dress
worn at the ball on St. Hubert's day, which lasted a whole
half-hour, for nobody would dance. The king pushed Ma-
dame d'Heudicourt into the middle of the room by main force ;
she obeyed, but at length the combat ended for want of com-
batants. The fine embroidered boddices destined for Villers-
Coterets serve to walk out on an evening, and were worn on
St. Hubert's day. The prince informed the ladies at Chan-
tilly, that their transparencies would be a thousand times more
beautiful if they would wear them next their skin, which I
very much doubt. The Granceis and Monacos did not share
in the amusements, because the mother of the latter is ill, and

160 LETTERS TO

the mother of the angels has been at death's door. It is said,
the Marchioness de la Ferte has been in labor there, ever
since Sunday, and that Bouchet is at his wit's end.

M. de Langlee has made Madame de Montespan a present
of a robe of gold cloth, on a gold ground, with a double gold
border embroidered and worked with gold, so that it makes
the finest gold stuff ever imagined by the wit of man. It was
contrived by fairies in secret, for no living wight could have
conceived any thing so beautiful. The manner of presenting
it was equally mysterious. Madame de Montespan's mantua-
maker carried home the suit she had bespoke, having made it
to fit ill on purpose ; you need not be told what exclamations
and scoldings there were upon the occasion. " Madam," said
the mantua-maker, trembling with fear, " as there is so little
time to alter it in, will you have the goodness to try whether
this other dress may not fit you better ?" It was produced.
" Ah !" cried the lady, " how beautiful ! What an elegant
stuff is this ? Pray, where did you get ? It must have fallen
from the clouds, for a mortal could never have executed any
thing like it." The dress was tried on ; it fitted to a hair.
In came the king. " It was made for you, madam," said the
mantua-maker. Immediately it was concluded that it must
be a present from some one ; but from whom ? was the ques-
tion. " It is Langlee," said the king. " It must be Langlee,"
said Madame de Montespan; "nobody but Langlee could
have thought of so magnificent a present — it is Langlee, it is
Langlee !" Every body exclaims, " It is Langlee, it is Lang-
lee !" The echoes repeat the sound. And I, my child, to be
in the fashion, say, " It is Langlee."

LETTER LX.

Paris, Wednesday, June 30, 16f7.
At length you inform me that you are arrived at Grignan.
The pains you have taken to keep our correspondence uninter-

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 161

rupted, is a continual mark of your affection. I can assure
you that you are not mistaken in the opinion that I stand in
need of this support ; indeed no one can be more in want of
it. It is true, however, and I too often think so, that your
presence would have been of much greater service to me ; but
your situation was so extraordinary, that the same considera-?
tions that determined you to go, made me consent to your de-
parture, without doing any thing more than stifle my senti-
ments. It was considered a crime in me to discover any un-
easiness with regard to your health. I saw you perishing
before my eyes, and was not permitted to shed a tear. It was
killing you, it was assassinating you ; I was compelled to sup-
press my grief. I never knew a more cruel or more unprece-
dented species of torture. If, instead of that restraint, which
only increased my affliction, you had owned that you were ill ;
and if your love for me had been productive of complaisance,
and made you evince a real desire to follow the advice of
physicians, to take nourishment, to observe a regimen, and to
own that repose and the air of Livri would have done you
good, this would indeed have comforted me, but your oppo-
sition to our sentiments aggravated my grief and anxiety. In
the end, my child, we were so circumstanced, that we could
not possibly avoid acting as we did. God explained to us
his will by that conduct; but we should endeavor to see
whether he will not permit us mutually to reform, and
whether, instead of that despair to which you condemned me
from a motive of affection, it would not be more natural
and more beneficial to give our hearts the liberty they re-
quire, and without which it is impossible for us to lead a life
of tranquillity. Thus I have declared my mind to you freely
once for all. I shall mention the subject no more, but let us
each reflect upon the past, that, whenever it pleases God to
bring us together again, we may carefully avoid falling into
the same errors. The relief which you have found in the fa-
tigues of so long a journey, sufficiently proves the necessity
you are under of laying aside restraint. Extraordinary reme-

162 LETTERS TO

dies are necessary for persons of an extraordinary character ;
physicians would never have dreamed of such a one as that 1
have just mentioned. God grant it may continue to produce
the same good effect, and that the air of Grignan may not
prove injurious to you ! I could not avoid writing to you in
this manner, in order to relieve my heart, and intimate to you
that we must endeavor, when next we meet, not to give any
one an opportunity of paying us the wretched compliment of
saying very civilly, that to keep quite well, we should never
. see one another again. I am astonished at the patience that
can bear so cruel a thought.

You brought the tears into my eyes in speaking of your
little boy. Alas, poor child ; who can bear to see him in
such a situation ! I do not retract what I always thought of
him ; but am of opinion that, even from affection, we ought
to wish him already in a happier world. Paulina appears to
me worthy of being made your play-thing ; her resemblance
even will not displease you, at least, I hope it will not. That
little quadrangular nose is a feature you can not possibly dis-
like to find at Grignan.* It seems to me somewhat odd that
the noses of the Grignan family should admit no shape but
this, and should be altogether averse to a nose like yours,
which might have been sooner formed ; but they dreaded ex-
tremes, though they did not care about a trifling modification.
The little marquis is a very pretty fellow ; you should not be
at all uneasy at his not being altered for the better. Talk to
me a great deal about the persons you associate with, and the
amusements they afford you.

LETTER LXL

Livri, Saturday, July 3, 1677.

Alas, how grieved I am at the death of your poor child !f

it is impossible not be affected at it. Not 1hat I was ever of

* This alludes to Madame de Sevigne's nose, which inclined to the
square. f The child that was born in February 1676.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 163

opinion he could live ; the description you gave convinced me
tli at his case was desperate. But, it is a great loss to you,
who had lost two boys before : God preserve to you the only
one that remains ! He discovers an admirable disposition ; I
am much better pleased with sound sense and just reasoning,
at his age, than with the vivacity of those who turn out fools
at twenty. Be satisfied with him, therefore ; lead him like a
horse that has a tender mouth, and remember what I told you
respecting his bashfulness; this advice comes from persons
much wiser than myself; and I am sure it is good. With re-
gard to Paulina, I have one word to say to you ; from your
description of her she may, perhaps, in time, become as hand-
some as yourself; when a child, you were exactly like her.
God grant she may not resemble me in having a heart so sus-
ceptible of tenderness ! I see plainly that you love her, that
she is amiable, and that she amuses you. I wish I could em-
brace her, and recognize that face again which I have seen
somewhere.

LETTER LXH.

Livri, Friday, July 16, 1677.
I wish, my dear child, that you had a tutor for your son ;
it is a pity his mind should be left uncultivated. I doubt
whether he is yet of an age to eat all sorts of food promiscu-
ously ; we should examine whether children are strong and
robust, before we give them strong meats ; otherwise we run
the hazard of injuring their stomachs, which is of great conse-
quence. My son stays behind to take leave of his friends ; he
will then come to me here ; he must afterward join the army,
and after that he may go and drink the waters. An officer,
named M. D****, has lately been cashiered for absenting him-
self ; I know the answer you will make, but this instance suf-
ficiently shows the severity of military discipline. Adieu, my
dear child ; be comforted for the loss of your son ; nobody is

164 LETTERS TO

to blame concerning him. His death was occasioned by
teething, and not by a defluxion upon the lungs ; when chil-
dren have not strength sufficient to force out the teeth at a
proper time, they are never able to bear the necessary motion
to make them all come at once ; I talk learnedly. You know
the answer of Sully's green bed to M. de Coulanges, made by
Guillerague ; it is droll enough ; Madame de Thianges repeated
it to the king, who sings it ; it was said at first, that he had
ruined himself by it ; but it is not true, it will perhaps make
his fortune. If ^ this discourse does not come from a green
mind, it comes from a green head, which is the same, and the
color of the thing can not be disputed.

LETTER LXin.

Livri, "Wednesday Evening, July 24, 1677.

Love Paulina, love Paulina, my child ! indulge yourself in
that amusement ; do not destroy your peace of mind by de-
priving yourself of her; what are you afraid of? You may
still send her to a convent for a few years, when you think it
necessary. Enjoy maternal affection for a while ; it is exquisite
when it springs from the heart, and the choice falls upon an
amiable object. Dear Paulina ! methinks I see her here ; she
will resemble you, notwithstanding she bears the mark of the
workman. It is true, this nose is a strange affair ; but it will
improve, and I will answer for it, she will be handsome,

Madame de Vins is still here ; she is now in my closet, en-,
gaged in conversation with D'Hacqueville and my son. His
heel is still so bad that he may perhaps go to Bourbon when
I go to Vichi. Be under no concern about this journey ; and
since it is not the will of Heaven that I should enjoy the
charms of your society, we must yield obedience to his will ;
it is a bitter evil, but it must be endured ; we are the weakest,
and to attempt resistance is vain. I should be too happy if
your friendship was clothed in all its realities ; it is still ex«

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 165

tremely dear to me, though divested of the charms and plea-
sures which your presence and company bestow upon it. My
son and I will answer all you have said on the subject of epic
poetry. The contempt I know he has for Eneas, makes me
apprehensive he will be of your opinion. Yet all the great
wits have a taste for every thing written by the ancients.

LETTER LXIV.

Epoisses, "Wednesday morning, August 25, 1677.
I have here, my beloved child, received your letter of the
11th, which I expected with so much impatience ; I am not
used to such delays ; it renders my whole journey uncomfort-
able to be thus disappointed. M. Guitaut does all he can to
convince me how extremely glad he is to see me here. All
our people are at Boubilly, where the farmer treated us yes-
terday with a most plentiful dinner. M. de Guitaut and M. de
Trichateau were there ; this gave an air of comfort to the
frightful Boubilly-house. I shall continue here till Sunday,
and will write to you once more from this place. There is no
sort of constraint in this house, so that I can read, work, or
walk out, when I please. My host and I have a great deal of
conversation together, and there is hardly a country you can
name where we have not been travelers. He tells me a thou-
sand stories of Provence, of the intendant and Vardes, which
I was ignorant of till now. He seems very devout ; follows
good teachers ; has a great desire to pay his old debts, and to
contract no new ones. This is the first step to be taken when
we become acquainted with true religion.

LETTER LXV.

Yichi, Wednesday evening, Sept. 22, 1677.
I have just received a letter of the 15th. I fancy it has
taken a trip to Paris. The chevalier has received one from

166 LETTERS TO

the* handsome abbe, of the same date-, which shows me you
were well, at least on that day. It is true that if Vardes had
mentioned your illness to me, in terms ever so little stronger
than those he used, no consideration would have kept me from
you#; but he managed so well, that I have no food for uneasi-
ness but what is passed by. I conjure you, my beloved child,
to send me word of the return of your health and beauty. I
can not dispense with this intelligence, nor can I endure the
thoughts of your being less handsome at your age. Do not
fancy, therefore, that you can reconcile me to your extreme
thinness, which is too plain a proof of your ill state of health :
mine is as perfect as it can be. I put an end to-morrow to all
my business, and take my last medicine. I have drunk the
waters sixteen days, have twice used the pump and the hot-
bath ; but the pump was two much for me, and I am sorry for
it, but it made me too hot and giddy ; in short, I had no oc-
casion for it, and drinking the waters was sufficient. I set out
on Friday for Langlar. My messmates, Termes, Flamarens,
and Jussac, will follow me thither. The chevalier will come to
see me on Saturday, and will return on Monday to begin the
pump. He will be only a week without me. He will receive
in my absence a thousand presents from my friends, and is very
well satisfied with me. My hands are better ; the inconve-
nience is so very slight, that I shall use no remedy but time.
I am perfectly in despair, my child, at the frightful ideas you
entertain. Heavens ! is it possible, that in my present state
of health, I can do you any injury ? It is certainly very much
against my inclination if I do. I know not whether it is your
intention to write me such admirable passages as you are ac-
customed to do. You could not possibly fail to succeed in
such attempt, and I can assure you they would not be suf-
fered to be forgotten : you are not sensible of the brilliancy of
what you say, and so much the better. You have some little
inclination to divert yourself at the expense of your humble
servant, as well as at her stays and head-dress ; but you would
certainly have fallen in love with me had you, seen the fine

MADAME DE GRIGNAN, 167

figure I cut at the well. I have a notion the Hotel de Carna-
valet will suit us better than the other house we heard of,
which is so small that not one of your people could possibly
have been accommodated there. We shall see what the great
D'Hacqueville will do. 'I tremble lest Madame de l'Islebonne
should take it into her head to stay. I am still very uneasy
about Corbinelli ; he has been very severely handled by his
ague, his delirium, and every thing that is frightful. He takes
the potable gold ; we shall see what effect it produces.* I
desire you would still talk to me of yourself and your health.
Do you use no method to repair the loss of your two bleed-
ings ? Good heavens ! what a disorder ! and what apprehen-
sions must it give to those who love you ! Here come the
chevalier and the rest of my old companions, with one who cer-
tainly plays a better fiddle than Baptiste. We should be de-
lighted to send you and M. de Grignan a chacone and an echo
with which he charms us, and with which you would likewise
be charmed. You shall hear him this winter.

LETTER LXVI.

Paris, Friday, October 15, 16*77.
We have been at Livri for these two days ; Madame de
Coulanges, who is quite well, doing the honors of the house,

* The time was at hand when the most pompous names given to the
most complicated mixture, served to vail the ignorance of the chemists,
physicians, and apothecaries, and to increase their bills. Potable gold
was one of those whimsical remedies, of which muriatic acid was the
basis. The solution of gold, which was added to it, was only used to
swell the expense. Powdered pearls were also sometimes used to make
their drugs still dearer. The severe Guy-Patin had no mercy upon these
quacks. He calls them Arabian cooks, and laughs at their farrago. He,
and some of his medical friends, prided themselves upon having de-
stroyed this colossal extortion. Their triumph was premature. The
cheap medicines they pretended to have restored, were not at that time
received by people of rank ; and it appears that Corbinelli was treated
like a nobleman, whether he would or not.

168 LETTERS TO

and I the company. We had the Abbe Tetu and Corbinelli
with us. Mademoiselle de Meri, who was returning from La
Trousse, came there too, thinking to spend some days with
Madame de Coulanges ; but this lady has ended her campaign,
and we all returned yesterday to Paris. Mademoiselle de
Meri went directly to Madame de MereuiPs, for her own house
was, it seems, in complete disorder ; and Madame de Cou»
langes, the Abbe Tetu and I, paid some visits in the country,
like Madame de la Fayette at Saint Maur, and Madame de
Schomberg at Rambouillet. I thought of sleeping at Madame
de Coulanges', but for that night only. I returned here to
visit the good abbe, who has been bled, and is still much in-
disposed with his cold ; I am sorry I could not help leaving
him for this little moment. We live quite in the open air ; all
my people are as busy as bees in packing up for our removal.
I encamped in my own bed-chamber ; and am now in that of
the worthy, my whole furniture being a little table, on which
I now write to you, and that is sufficient. I fancy we shall all
be pleased with our Hotel de Carnavalet. We think it strange
not to have seen Termes, though we have been home these
nine days. It is easy to guess that he has returned to his col-
lege, and that his regent gives him not a moment's relaxation.
I am not at all sorry, as you may very well suppose, and shall
not reproach him for it ; but ask the chevalier, whether, after
the great pleasure he took in talking with me at Vichi, such
extreme indifference be not very singular. It would certainly
be very indiscreet, if the lady stood in need of being directed,
and such conduct would be something to talk of; but it is
impossible to do her any injury. I thought he seemed quite
delighted at Vichi, on account of the vocation as you say, and
to be with a good sort of woman, in full assurance of having
no demands made upon him. This repose charmed him;
there is sometimes great pleasure in passing from one extreme
to another. He was mightily taken with the perpetual gos-
sip of Vichi. You see what the consequence of this has been,
at which I am under no sort of concern, but I tell it you as I

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 169

do a thousand things else. When excess and imprudence are
pushed to a certain extreme, I am persuaded they are more
injurious to men than women; at least their fortunes are
always sure to pay considerably for it. But let us leave
Termes under the ferula ; there is a good deal to be said of
another old ferula* which discovers its severity too much.
As for you, my child, you enjoy a real vacation, and make an
admirable use of the fine weather ; to dine at home in your
own house is a very extraordinary affair. You write to me
from Rochecourbiere — what a pretty place to date from !
what a delightful grotto ! How amiable you are to remember
me at that delightful place, and to be sorry that I am not
there to share its pleasures with you ! Let us leave Provi-
dence to dispose of affairs at his pleasure ; we shall see one an-
other again, my love. In the mean time I shall prepare to receive
you at Carnavalet, where I shall again have the pleasure of ren-
dering you a thousand little services, which are of no real im-
portance ; but I am happy in the opportunity, because you
wrote me word the other day, that little attentions were a
stronger proof of friendship than any other. It is true, we
can not set too high a value upon them ; self-love has cer-
tainly too large a share in what we do on great occasions.
Tender interest is swallowed up in pride ; this is an idea of
yours which I would not for the world deprive you of, as I
find my account in it but too well.

I am, in regard to the loss of Bayard, precisely in the same
disposition you guessed I was. Madame de la Fayette is ut-
terly inconsolable. I have presented your compliments to

* This old ferula is apparently the Marchioness de Castelnau, who
was long and publicly the mistress of M. de Termes. The Amours des
Gaules, in which this is found, has very much defamed this marquis.
If this part was written by Bussy as well as the rest, he must have been
very wicked, for his letters show that the Marquis de Termes was his
steady friend. He also possessed all the requisites to excite his jeal-
ousy. He was one of those in whom Boileau acknowledged a superior
mind. "M. de Termes," said he, "is always of the opinion of others,
and this is true politeness." (Vide la Boleana.)

8

170 LETTERS TO

her. She was then living on a milk diet, which she has dis-
continued on account of its turning acid on her stomach ; so
that we have lost this sole ground of hope of the recovery of
her desperate state of health. That of M. de Maine is cer-
tainly far from being good. He is at Versailles, where no one
has seen him ; they say he walks worse than he did. In
short, I really fancy there is something in it.

LETTER LXVIL

Paris, Wednesday, October 27, 1677.

I shall no longer, my child, ask you why. In three words,
my horses are thin, my tooth is loose, and my preceptor has
got the king's evil. All this is dreadful. One might well
make three grievances of these three answers, and especially
of the second. I shall not ask you after this, whether your
watch goes right, for you will then tell me it is broken.
Paulina answers much better than you do ; nothing can be
more amusing than the little rogueries she means to be guilty
of, when she says she will be a rogue some day or other her-
self. Ah, how sorry I am thai I can not see this dear child !
I fancy you will soon console me for this, if you pursue the
plan I have laid down to you ; you will set out at furthest in
a week, and will not receive this letter at Grignan. M. de
Coulanges is to set out to-day by the stage-coach for Lyons,
where you will find him ; he will inform you how delightfully
we are accommodated. There was no hesitation in choosing
the upper part of the house for you and me, and the lower for
M. de Grignan and his daughters ; so that all will be perfectly
well.

I recommend to all your Grignans, who are so careful of
your health, to see that you do not fall into the Rhone, by the
cruel pleasure you take in exposing yourself to its greatest
dangers. I entreat them to turn cowards, and to land with
you. I find, besides, that I shall be very happy to administer

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 171

to you some of my chicken-broth. The place you desire at
my table, you may be assured is yours. The regimen which
your Grignans prescribe for you is my ordinary fare. I agree
with Grisoni to banish all ragouts.

LETTER LXVIH.

Livri, Wednesday, October 25, 1679.

I am here alone ; I was loath to suffer any irksomeness but
my own. No company tempts me to begin my winter so
soon. If I chose it, I could assume an air of solitude ; but
after hearing Madame de Brisac say, the other day, that she
was wholly engaged in her meditations, and had rather too
much of her own company, I am proud to boast that I have
passed this whole afternoon in the meadow, in conference with
our sheep and cows. I have store of good books, especially
Montaigne ; what could I desire more, since I can not have
you ? I have the favor of your last letter at this place. You
fancy I am at Paris, sitting in the chimney-corner, and have,
no doubt, sitting by your own, received my lamentations on
the fatigue of your journey ; what a dreadful thing it is to be
at such a distance ! It is impossible to be more astonished
than I was to find you with M. and Madame de Memes ; I fan-
cied you had been deceived, and that you were to have re-
ceived them at Livri. They write to me to express how much
they are charmed at the reception you have given them : they
are very desirous to see me, which is the strongest inducement
for my returning so speedily.

You are in the right to suppress Paulina's modesty ; it will
be worn out by the time she is fifteen ; a premature and ill-
timed modesty may have sad consequences. You are in jest,
to thank Corbinelli for the compliment he paid your good
sense. He merely thinks you superior to others ; and when
he says so, he says what he thinks, and has no intention to
flatter you. He would have said a word or two in my letter,

172 LETTERS TO

on the compliments you were pleased to make him ; but this
I intend to wave till my return. M. and Madame de Rohan
have not thought of making him a present, out of the two
thousand five hundred pistoles they received at the assembly
of the States, under the title of the little prince of Leon. Some
people have a strange destiny ; Corbinelli's seems to be to
hold ir, the most sovereign contempt what other folks prize in
the highest degree. It is true, I was very much amused with
his conversation, and that of the Abbe de Piles ;* they agreed
in many things, though there were some of harder digestion,
which they seemed to chew upon. M. de Rochefoucault calls
this eating hot peas : I am sure they had a good dish of them ;
for this forest is adapted for such things. The fat abbe has
entered on his office of gazetteer, so you need be under no un-
easiness about answers ; he is better calculated for the office
than I am.

Your brother is a strange creature ; he could not, for the
soul of him, help spoiling all the wonders he performed at the
assembly of the States, by an absurd fancy and a pretense of
being in love perfectly ridiculous. The object is a Mademoi-
selle de la Coste, upward of thirty years of age, without for-
tune or beauty ; even her father says he is very sorry for it,
ind that it is by no means a fit match for M. de Sevigne ; he
writes me so himself; I commend and thank him for his pru-
lence. What do you suppose your brother has done since ?
le has never quitted his damsel, but has followed her to
tlennes and Lower Brittany, where she has gone under pre-
tense of visiting Tonquedec ; he has almost turned her brain,
and has put her out of conceit with a very proper match she
had in some degree contracted ; it is the talk of the whole
province. M de Coulanges, and all my friends in Brittany,
write to me about it, and are all persuaded he will certainly

* The same, probably, who has made himself known by his works
on painting. He studied in the Sorbonne. He afterward went to
Italy with the younger Amelot, whom he educated. He was also em •
ployed in several negotiations.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 1V3

marry her. For my own part, I am convinced of the contrary ;
but I ask him why he so unnecessarily disgraces his poor
head, after such a promising commencement ? why he makes
the lady reject an offer she now looks upon with the most
sovereign contempt ? and why this perfidy ? If it is not perfi-
dy, it will have some other name, since I am determined, let
wbat will happen, never to sign the marriage-contract. If he
be really in love, so much the worse, for this is a source of the
most extravagant actions ; but as I think him incapable of that
passion, I should scruple, were I in his place, thus wantonly to
wound the repose and the fortune of one he can so easily dis-
pense with. He is now at the Rocks, from whence he writes
to me about this journey to Tonquedec's, but not a syllable of
his Dulcinea, or of this noble flame. Only in general terms,
a great many fine things, and compliments without number.
In short, it is an affair I leave entirely to the disposal of Prov-
idence.

LETTER LXIX.

Paris, Friday, Nov. 10, 1679.
I am no longer a shepherdess, my poor child ; I have left
with regret my solitary conversation with your letters, and
your image, aided by Louison, our cows and sheep, and the
twilight, which I embraced with eagerness, because I would
neither spare nor flatter myself. I am now in the refinements
of the Hotel de Carnavalet, where I find I am not less occupied
with you, that your letters are not less dear to me, or that any
thing in the world is capable of driving you from my thoughts.
I shall have little news to tell you ; I know scarcely any at
present ; but what I hear comes from good authority, and may
be depended on. You assure me, my dearest child, you are
perfectly well. God grant it be so ; this is soon said. I wish
you would not write me such long letters ; I am certain they
do you harm. Were it not for this consideration, you may

174 LETTERS TO

believe I should be glad they were as long as possible ; but
this apprehension damps all the pleasure I receive from them.
Du Chene told me the other day nothing could be worse for
you than much writing. The time must come, my child,
when you will write less ; and when you are here, you must
think of your health, and your recovery. We will take care
to put the Hotel de Carnavalet in as good order as possible
for you. The good abbe wishes this as much as I do. Pray,
write me no more bad accounts of yourself, nor imagine that
your letters are better than your conversation ; I should be
unworthy of your love were I capable of entertaining such
a thought. I am convinced of your affection, and I have as
much relish for your society as those who are most delighted
with your conversation. Ah ! did you know the power of a
word, a look, a kind expression, or a caress from you, and from
what distant countries one of these could bring me, you would
be convinced, my beauty, that nothing is equal to your pres-
ence ! The account of your devotion on All-Saints' day has
affected me strangely. It was delightful to cram all your lit-
tle ones into the same litter — dear little party ! Had I been
of your council, I should have given my vote for doing just
as you did, as you will see by my advice to Paulina, in the
regular answer I have written her. Lovely child ! it is impos-
sible she can ever tire you. Enjoy, my love, all these little
comforts, and instead of thinking of depriving yourself of them,
think of the numberless evils of this mortal and transitory
life.

I finish this letter at Mademoiselle de Meri's, where I also
close my packet. She is quite exhausted with the vapors and
evacuations, and is incapable of writing a single syllable ; she
tells you by me all she should write to you if she were able.
I have been just visiting that poor chevalier who keeps his bed
with pains in his neck and hip. This rheumatic humor never
leaves him ; I have more compassion than other people for
this disorder. I am of opinion his illness will not be of long
continuance. He feels the serosities already beginning to dissi-

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 175

pate. He wants a good pumping, if the season permitted it,
He gave me his letter to inclose in my packet ; these poor
sick people must be taken care of; all the rest of Paris is ill
of a cold :

Us ne mouraient pas tous ; mais tous etaient frappes.
They died not all; though none escaped a wound :*

as you used to say. Adieu, my dear girl ! I embrace you
with the warmest affection, with all your great and little
party.

LETTER LXX.

Paris, Wednesday, Nov. 22, 16*79.
What I am going to tell you, my dear child, will both sur-
prise and vex you. M. de Pomponne is out of favor ; he
had orders on Saturday evening, as he was returning from
Pomponne, to resign his office. The king has directed that
he should receive seven hundred thousand livres, and that his
pension of twenty thousand livres a year, which he had as
minister, should be continued to him ; intending, by this, to
show that he was satisfied with his fidelity. It was M. Col-
bert who gave him his information, assuring him at the same
time that he was extremely mortified to be obliged, etc. M. de
Pomponne asked him whether he might not be allowed the
honor of speaking to the king, to learn from his own mouth
what fault he had committed that brought this stroke upon
him : he was told, he could not ; so he wrote to the king, ex-
pressing his extreme sorrow, and his utter ignorance of what
could have contributed to his disgrace. He mentioned his nu-
merous family, and besought him to have compassion on his
eight children. Immediately after, he caused the horses to be
put into his carriage, and returned to Paris, where he arrived

* A verse of La Fontaine, in his fable of Les Animaux Malades de
la Peste.

176 LETTERS TO

at twelve at night. M. de Chaulnes, Caumartin, and I, had
been, as I wrote you, on the Friday at Pomponne, where we
found him and the ladies, who received us with allt he pleas-
ure imaginable. We chatted all the evening, and played at
chess : ah ! what a checkmate they were preparing for him at
St. Germain ! He went thither the next morning, because a
courier waited for him ; so that M. Colbert, who thought to
find him on Saturday evening, as usual, knowing he was set out
for St. Germain, returned instantly, and had nearly killed his
horses. For ourselves, we did not leave Pomponne till after
dinner, where we left the ladies. It was necessary to inform
them of what had happened, by letter ; this was brought by one
of M. de Pomponne's valets, who arrived at nine on the Sun-
day at Madame de Vins' apartment ; the man's precipitation,
and his altered looks, made Madame de Vins fancy he had
brought the account of M. de Pomponne's death ; so that on
finding he was only disgraced, she breathed again ; but she
felt the extent of his misfortune, and when she was sufficiently
recovered went to acquaint her sister with it. They set out
that instant, leaving all the little boys in tears ; and arrived
in Paris at two in the afternoon, overwhelmed with grief.
You may figure to yourself this interview with M. de Pom-
ponne, and what they felt on meeting each other in so differ-
ent a situation from what they were in the evening before. I
learned this sad intelligence from the Abbe de Grignan, and I
confess to you it pierced me to the heart. I went to their
house in the evening ; they saw no company in public. I went
up stairs, and found them all three. M. de Pomponne em-
braced me without being able to utter a word ; the ladies
could not restrain their tears, nor I mine. You would have
wept too, my child ; it was really a melancholy spectacle ; the
circumstance of our quitting each other at Pomponne so
differently, augmented our sorrows. Poor Madame de Vins,
whom I left in such spirits, could hardly be recognized ; a
fever of a fortnight could scarcely have altered her more. She
mentioned you to me, and said she was persuaded you would

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 177

feel for ner and M. de Pomponne's affliction, which I assured
her you would. We spoke of the blow she felt from this dis-
grace, both in regard to her affairs, her situation, and her hus-
band's fortune. I do assure you, she feels all this in its great-
est horror. M. de Pomponne, it is true, was not a favorite,
but his situation gave him an opportunity to obtain certain
common things, which often make our fortune. There are
many inferior situations sufficient to make the fortunes of in-
dividuals. It was besides pleasant to be thus in a manner set-
tled at court. What a change ! what retrenching, what econ-
omy, must now be made use of in his family ! Eight children,
and not to have had time to obtain the smallest favor ! They
are thirty thousand livres in debt ; you may suppose how little
they will have left : they are going to a miserable retreat at
Paris and Pomponne. It is said so many journeys, and some-
times the attendance of couriers, even that of Bavaria, who
arrived on the Friday, and whom the king waited for with
impatience, have contributed to draw this misfortune upon
them.* But you will easily comprehend in this the ways of

* The memoirs and letters of the cotemporary writers all agree
that M. de Pomponne's negligence was the cause of his disgrace. The
more modern historians, even Henault, keep to the received opinion.
How could they fail to remark, that Louis XIV., in a memorandum
written in his own hand, and mentioned by Yoltaire, has himself ex-
plained very differently the cause of this minister's dismissal? "All
that passed through his hands, lost the grandeur and strength it ought
to have displayed, as being the orders of a king of France." These
are his own words. Every one knows, in reality, that it was from the
treaty of Nimeguen, a single year prior to M. de Pomponne's disgrace,
the dominion and authority of Louis XI Y. affected over all Europe,
were dated. From this period his ministers treated the foreign embas-
sadors with insulting arrogance. The famous chambers of reunion
were established. Strasbourg was taken possession of by violence.
Advances were made into Italy. No conciliatory measures were
adopted. All the states were irritated.

Bat besides M. de Pomponne's having the crime of leaning toward
the Jansenists, Louvois and Colbert, though enemies to each other,
both labored to ruin him ; the first to place his friend M. Courtin in

8*

178 LETTERS TO

Providence, when I tell you, the President Colbert has his
place ; as he is in Bavaria, his brother officiates in his absence,
and wrote to congratulate him, and to surprise him, on the
back of the letter, as if by mistake ; " To M. Colbert, Min-
ister and Secretary of State." I paid my compliments of con-
dolence to the unfortunate family. Reflect a little on the
power of this family, as well at home as abroad, and you will
easily perceive it far exceeds that of the other house where a
wedding is going on.* My poor child, this is a long and cir-
cumstantial account ; but I think, on such occasions, we can
not be too particular ; you are pleased we should always be
talking to you, and in this instance I have perhaps complied
with your desires too much. When your courier arrives, I
shall have nowhere to send him ; and it is an additional mor-
tification to me to find I shall henceforth be entirely useless to
you ; though it is true, I was already so, by means of Ma-
dame de Vins ; but that was meant in mere jest. In short,
my child, all is now at an end, and such is the way of the
world. M. de Pomponne is better qualified than any man
upon earth to support this misfortune with courage and with
truly Christian resignation. Those who have acted like him
in prosperity, can not fail to be pitied in their misfortunes.

I must, however, add a word or two respecting your letter ;
it gave me real consolation. You tell me the little boy is
quite recovered, and that I should be satisfied with yourself if
I were to see you. Ah, my child, it is indeed true ; what a
delightful sight would it be to me to see you really occupied
with the care of your health, by taking the necessary repose
to recruit your wasted strength ; it is a pleasure you have
never yet afforded me. You find this care is by no means
useless : you already discover its salutary effects ; and if I tor-

his situation, and the second, his brother Colbert de Croissy. The last
succeeded, to the great rage of Louvois.

* Madeleine-Charlotte le Tellier, daughter of M. de Louvois, mar-
ried the next day, 23d November, Francis Duke of Rochefoucault and
of Rocheguyon, grandson of M. de la Rochefoucault.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 179

ture myself here by my endeavors to inspire you with the
same attention to your welfare, you plainly see I have good
reason.

LETTER LXXL

Paris, Friday, Nov. 24, 1679.

What a charming letter have I just received from you!
what exquisite pleasure is it to hear you reason thus ! What
you say on the subject of medicine delights me. I am per-
suaded that, with that understanding and quickness of appre-
hension with which God has endowed you, you might, with a
little application, soon outstrip the physicians themselves. You
might, indeed, want a little experience, and perhaps, too, you
might not kill with impunity as they do ; but I would much
sooner trust your judgment of a disease than theirs. The only
real concern of life is undoubtedly the care of our health ; the
world seems to agree in this. The general question is, " How
are you ? how are you ?" and yet we are in general wholly
ignorant of every particular relating to this important science.
Go on then, go on, my child ; finish the course of your studies ;
the scarlet gown is all the diploma you will stand in need of,
as in the play.* Pray, what do you mean by sending us your
little physician ? I assure you ours have entirely lost their
credit here, except three or four of our acquaintance, and who
prescribe the Englishman's recipe ; all the rest are held in
utter abhorrence. This Englishman recovered Marshal de
Bellefond the other day from death's door. I do not think
the first physician has the right secret.

Is it then true, my child, you have got the better of your
complaints ? No more pains in the chest, no colic, no pain in
the legs ? This is as it should be. You see the advantage of
repose and taking care to recruit yourself. Can you be angry
with me for chiding you when you neglect yourself, and in*

* Moli6re's Malade Imaginaire.

180 LETTERS TO

humanly abandon all care of your health ? I could talk for
ten years about this wicked conduct in you, and the benefits
that result from a contrary conduct. Why can not I embrace
you and enjoy your company here in the evenings ? I enter
tl is house with a heavy heart. From nine till twelve at night
I am as desolate as I was at Livri, and yet I prefer this silence
and repose to all the evening parties I am invited to in this
part of the town. I hate going out of an evening. When I
am not tormented with fears for your health, I feel your ab-
sence more. The thought of your lungs is like pinching the
ear to prevent the pain of boring it from being felt : this com-
parison I heard from you, but the former pain soon returns
when I am not checked by the other. I confess I never bear
your absence so well as when I am in fear for your health, and
I thank you a thousand times for removing the pincers from
my ears. Madame de Vins stands in need of some equally
powerful means to remove her affliction at M. de Pomponne's
disgrace, by which she loses her all. I often visit her, and no
misfortune shall ever drive me from the house. M. de Pom-
ponne will easily resolve on what is to be done, and will bear
his ill-fortune with dignity ; he will again display the virtues
of a private station, for which we so much admired him at
Frene. They say he was rather remiss in his office, and made
the couriers wait too long for their dispatches. He justifies
himself fully. But, good heavens ! do we not plainly see where
the fault lies ! Ah ! how would poor Madame du Plessis have
adored him now ! and how would this similarity of situation
have cemented their union! Nothing in the world would
have been so fortunate for him. I have mentioned this to no
one but Madame de Vins ; I suppose you understand me. 1
can answer for the justice of my opinion, which is, I dare say,
your own. The whole court pities him, and have been to pay
him their compliments of condolence on the occasion. You will
soon see him recommence the thread of his perfections. We
have talked a great deal about Providence, a doctrine he un-
derstands perfectly well. Surely there never was so worthy a

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 181

minister. M. Colbert, the embassador,* is to succeed in this
office ; he is a great Mend of the chevalier's. Write all your
thoughts to the latter ; perhaps Fortune, capricious as she is,
intends you should reap more advantage through his means
than from our intimate acquaintance. You will easily strike
into the right road by what I tell you. How is it possible for
us to know what Providence has in store for us ?

I continue my attentions to Mademoiselle de Meri ; the im-
pression the misfortune of her little domestic makes on her is
very extraordinary. She tells me she fancies, when any one
speaks to her, they are shooting at her, as if they had an in-
tention to kill her. This really does her as much harm as her
illness. It is a circle ; her anger increases her disorder, and
her disorder increases her anger. The sum total is, that it is
a very strange affair, and I employ all my attention to admin-
ister to her relief.

Corbinelli gives up the Chevalier de Meri, with his pitiful
style,f and the ridiculous critique he makes on a wit so free,
so playful, so charming, as Voiture's : those are to be pitied
who do not understand him.J I would not have you depend
on receiving the definition you asked of him, for he has read
nothing these three months but the Code and the Cujas. He
is delighted with you for resolving to study medicine : you are

* Mons. de Colbert de Croissy, brother to the comptroller-general,
was then in Bavaria, in order to conclude a marriage between Mon-
seigneur and Maria Anna Victoria of Bavaria.

f M. de Meri had known and loved Madame de Maintenon from her
infancy. He had brought her out into the world under the name of the
Young Indian. He cultivated her friendship in all circumstances. But
what is singular is, that he would have married her, and that he made
her the offer of his hand at the very time that Louis thought of making
her his wife. The letters of M. de Meri, which were found in Madame
de Maintenon's collection, were indeed emphatic, heavy, and pedantic,
and well deserved the name " pitiful style" (chien de style).

X The French editors observe, justly enough, that as much may be
said in regard to those who can not find out the value of these letters
of Madame de Sevigne.

182 \ LETTERS TO

a prodigy in his opinion. The calm ingratitude of M. and
Madame Richelieu is indeed a prodigy ; you describe it very
pleasantly. M. le Grand, and some others, said seriously the
other day at St. Germain, that M. Richelieu had made an ad-
mirable siege : it was supposed he had been reading some book
about the great Richelieu's in the civil wars ; not so, he meant
Richelieu the tapestry-maker, who has made an admirable
siege that hangs in his wife's apartment.

Madame de Coulanges has been at court this fortnight;
Madame de Maintenon had a cold, and would not part with
her. I must tell you of a quarrel she had with the Countess
de Grammont.* The latter was scorching her fine complexion
over the fire, making chocolate ; Madame de Coulanges would
have saved her the trouble. The Countess bid her leave her
to herself, for it was the only pleasure she had left. Madame
de Coulanges answered, "Ah, ingrate !" This expression,
which at any other time would have made her laugh, embar-
rassed and disconcerted her so highly, that she could not get
the better of it, and they have not spoken since. The Abbe
Tetu said, very rudely, to our neighbor, " But, madame, had
she answered you, ' The pot calls the kettle black,' what would
you have found to say ?" " Sir," said she, " I am no pot,
though she is a kettle." So here is another quarrel. Quanto
and the sick lady are both on the high ropes ; the latter is so
much in favor with the fountain of all good things, that it oc-
casions a great deal of animosity. I could tell you a thousand
trifles if you were here.

Ah, my child, you tell me I have nothing to do but laugh,
when I have your absence to support ; I could almost find in
my heart to say, " Ah ! ingrate !" Do not you remember
what this absence of yours has made me suffer ? Are not you
the sensible and true occupation of my heart ? You well
know, and you ought to feel, what a terrible addition the fear
of hearing you are indisposed, and chilled by the piercing air

* Elizabeth Hamilton, lady of the bed-chamber to Queen Maria
Theresa, of Austria.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 183

of Grignan, makes to this apprehension. You are unjust if
you are at a loss to guess my sentiments, which are so very
natural, and so full of true affection for you.

LETTER LXXII.

Paris, Friday, January 26, 1680.

I begin with the state of your health, as the subject nearest
my heart. It is without disparagement to this favorite idea,
that I see and hear what passes in the world. Events are
more or less interesting to me as they are more or less con-
nected with you ; even the attention I pay to news springs
from the same source. I find you well nursed, my dear child,
and kept in cotton. You are not in the whirlwind, so that I
am perfectly easy with regard to your quiet ; but then I am
by no means so with respect to that heaviness, and those heats
you are troubled with ; and then again that pain you endure,
with no north-easterly winds, or extraordinary fatigue to oc-
casion it. I could wish to have a little further information
on this particular, which is of so much importance to me.
The care that is taken of you can not be wholly owing to pre-
caution, nor without good reason. I wish you may be sincere
in your resolution, no longer to destroy yourself with your
writing-desk. Confirm me, I beseech you, in my good opinion
of you, and never again write me such long letters, since
Montgobert acquits herself so well of the office ; and, as I have
already told you, may also save you the trouble of dictating.
I could wish, too, she would now and then add a word or
two of her own, relative to the state of your health.

I have at last received a letter from my son, who is at
Nantes. He was but twenty days on the road ; he traveled
only ninety leagues from Brittany in the month of January, to
spend the holidays, and without one spark of love in his
heart ! I have written to him to take care how he tells this
story to others, and that, to save his reputation, he ought to

184 LETTERS TO

allege some flame, real or pretended ; otherwise he would ap-
pear more a Breton than the Bretons themselves. I have
also entreated him not to stay at Nantes, on account of my
affairs ; they are not a plausible excuse, and I should be sorry
to pass for so silly or so covetous a being, as to prefer things
which are of no consequence to the necessity of his paying
his attendance at court on such an occasion as the present.
He seems to me to be under some embarrassment ; but he
will return soon enough to set out with M. de Chaulnes.
Mark my goodness, I have secured him a place in his carriage.
Madame de Soubise is no longer talked of ; she even seems
forgotten already. In fact, there are a thousand other things
to employ our attention at present ; and I am foolish enough
myself to venture on some other topic. For these two days it
has been, as in the affair of mademoiselle and M. de Lauzun,
a constant bustle, sending to learn the news, paying visits
from house to house, to learn what is passing ; curiosity is
on the stretch, and this is what has come out, in expectation
of the remainder.*

* La Yoisin, La Yigoreux, and a priest of the name of Le Sage,
known at Paris as conjurers and casters of nativities, added to this jug-
glery the secret practice of poisons, which they denominated succession
powder. They did not fail to accuse those who applied to them for one
thing, of having had recourse to them for another. It is thus Marshal
de Luxembourg was exposed, by his intendant Bonard, for having
made some extravagant exorcism with Le Sage, for the purpose of re-
covering his lost papers. The vindictive Louvois seized the opportunity
to ruin, or, at least, to torment him.

Besides the persons here named, Madame de Polignac was decreed tc
be imprisoned, and Madame de la Ferte, as well as the Countess du
Roure, to be personally summoned.

The Countess de Soissons was accused of having poisoned her hus-
band; Madame d'Alluie, her father-in-law; Madame de Tingry, ber
children ; Madame de Polignac, a valet who was in possession of her
secret ; and this secret was, that she wished to give the king a charm,
to make herself beloved by him.

The king gave the Duchess de Foix a note, written by her to La
Voisin, expressed in these terms, " The more I rub the less they pro-

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 185

M. de Luxembourg was at Saint Germain on Wednesday;
the king frowned on him more than usual ; he was told there
was a warrant issued to apprehend him ; he asked to be per-
mitted to speak to the king ; you may conjecture what was
said. The king told him that if he were innocent, he had
nothing to do but to throw himself voluntarily into prison, and
that he had appointed such upright judges to make inquiry
into affairs of this kind, that he left every thing to them. M.
de Luxembourg immediately took coach, and went to Father
de la Chaise ; Mesdames de Lavardin and De Mouri met him
as they were coming here, in a very melancholy mood, in the
Eue Saint Honore ; after passing an hour at the convent of
the Jesuits, he repaired to the Bastile, and delivered to Barse-
meaux* the order he brought from Saint Germain. He was
at first shown into a tolerably handsome chamber. Madame de
Meckelbourgf came there to visit him, and was almost drowned
in tears. About an hour after she left him, an order came
to confine him in one of those horrible places in the towers,
of which the windows are closed with iron bars, so as scarcely
to admit the light of day, and to suffer no one to see him.
This, my child, is ample subject for reflection ; think of the
brilliant fortune of such a man, raised to the honor of com-
manding in chief the king's armies, and then figure to your
self what his feelings must be on hearing those grating bolts
shut upon him, and, if it were possible for him to sleep, what
his thoughts must be when he awakes ! No one thinks there
has been any poison in his affair. This is a misfortune that
seems to obliterate every other.

Madame de Tingres is summoned to give evidence on the

ject." He required an explanation. It alluded to a recipe to increase
the size of the bosom. She informed La Yoisin that her drug was
ineffectual .

It may be supposed that La Yoisin had many of these secrets for the
use of ladies. *

* Governor of the Bastile.

f Sister of M. de Luxembourg, formerly Madame de Chatillon.

186 LETTERS TO

trial. The Countess de Soissons could not endure the thoughts
of a prison ; she has been allowed time to make her escape, if
she really is guilty. She was playing at basset on the
Wednesday when M. de Bouillon came in ; he begged her to
step with him into the closet, where he told her she must either
leave Fiance, or go to the Bastile ; she was not long in deter-
mining what to do. She immediately called the Marchioness
d' Allure from the card-table, and they have never appeared
since. When the hour of supper came, they were told the
Countess supped in town ; the whole company broke up,
thinking something very extraordinary had happened. In the
mean time, parcels are packed up, with money, jewels, etc.,
the male servants have gray liveries, and eight horses are put
to the carriage. She made the Marchioness d' Allure, who they
say was unwilling to go, sit behind, on the same side with her,
and two female servants in the front. She told her people
not to be uneasy on her account, that she was innocent, but
that some vile women* had taken pleasure in implicating her ;
she wept, called on Madame de Carignan, and left Paris at
three in the morning. It is said she is gone to Namur; you
may be sure nobody wants to follow her. She will, notwith-
standing, be tried in her absence, if it be only to clear her
reputation to the world ; there is a great deal of detraction in
what La Voisin says. It is believed the Duke de Villeroyf is
very much concerned at it ; he keeps his room, and sees no-
body. Perhaps I may be able to tell you more before I seal
my letter.

Madame de Vibraye has fallen into the old train of devo-
tion ; God, as you well remarked, would not suffer her to pass
her whole life in the company of her enemies. Madame de
Buri turns her talking-mill with very great address. If the
princess is to be seen at Paris, Madame de Vins wishes me to

* La Yoisin and her associates in their witchcrafts, etc.
f Francis Neuville, afterward Marshal of France. He had been the
lover, and was the intimate friend, of the Countess de Soissons.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 187

accompany her when she goes there. Pomenars has been cut
for the stone ; did I not tell you so ? I have seen him ; it is
pleasant to hear him talk of the poisons ; one is almost tempted
to say to him, " Is it possible this crime alone should be un-
known to you ?" Volonne gives his opinion, without any hesi-
tation, and wonders how any one could hold a correspondence
with these vile women. The Queen of Spain is, in a manner, as
much confined as M. de Luxembourg. Madame de Villars
wrote to Madame de Coulanges the other day, that were it not
for her love to M. de Villars, she would not have consented to
pass the winter at Madrid. She gives Madame de Coulanges
many pleasant and entertaining narratives, as she thinks they
will go further.* I am overjoyed to have the pleasure of pe-
rusing her letters, without the trouble of answering them.
Madame de Vins thinks as I do. M. de Pomponne is gone to
breathe the air of Pomponne, where he means to stay three
days ; he has received all, and given up all ; so that affair is
finished. It really pains me to hear him always asking, "What
news ? He is as much a stranger to what is passing as one
living on the banks of the Marne ; he is in the right to make
his mind as happy as he can. Mine, as well as the abbe's,
was much affected at what you wrote with your own hand ;
you did not feel it, my dear child, but it was impossible to
read it without tears. Good heavens ! you pronounce your-
self as good for nothing, as an encumbrance to the earth ; to
one who sees no object in existence but you ! Think of the
consequences your talking thus may produce. I beseech you,
never henceforth to say any ill of your humor. Your heart
and mind are too perfect to suffer such light clouds to be per-
ceived ; be a little more tender of truth and justice, as well as
of the sole object of my vows and prayers, I shall think my-
self really dead till I have the gratification of seeing you.

* Madame de Coulanges, passing her life at court, with Madame de
Maintenon, and even with Mademoiselle de Fontanges, could easily re-
port these agreeable narratives to the king.

188 LETTERS TO

LETTER LXXm.

Paris, Wednesday, January 31, 1680.

It is impossible for me to see your hand- writing without
emotion. I well know the injury writing does you ; and
though you say the most affectionate and most amiable things
to me possible, I regret exceedingly the purchase of that pleas-
ure at the expense of your lungs ; I know you are still far
from well. You tell me the weather is extremely mild, and
that you do not fatigue yourself, and that you write less than
usual : whence, then, proceeds this obstinacy in your disorder ?
You are dumb on that subject, and Montgobert has the cru-
elty, though she has the pen in her hand, not to say a single
word about it. What is the rest of the world to me, and
what pleasure can I receive from the account of all the re-
joicings at Aix, when I find you are obliged to go to bed at
eight in the evening ? " But," say you, " do you then wish
me to sit up late and fatigue myself ?" No, my dearest ; God
forbid I should be capable of forming so depraved a wish ;
but when you were here, you were not wholly incapable of
relishing the sweets of society. I have at length seen M. de
Gordes ; he told me, with great sincerity, that you were in a
very feeble state in the boat, and that you were much better
at Aix : but then, with the same simplicity he assures me,
that the air of Provence is too keen, too piercing, and too dry-
ing, in your present condition. When we are in health, nothing
is amiss ; but when the lungs are attacked, and we are thin and
delicate, like you, we run the risk of putting it out of our
power ever to recover. Tell me no more that the delicacy of
your lungs draws our ages nearer together. God forbid that
the order established by Providence, so agreeable to nature
and reason, and at the same time so dear to me, should be de-
ranged with respect to us.

I must resume the article of news, which I always suffer to
rest awhile when I get upon the subject of your health. M.
de Luxembourg has been two days without eating ; he asked

MADAME DE GRI&NAN, 189

for several Jesuits, but has been refused every one of them :
he asked to have the Lives of the Saints, and it has been given
him ; you will see he is at a loss to which of the Saints he
shall devote himself. He was interrogated for four hours on
Friday or Saturday, I can not recollect which ; after that his
mind appeared much relieved, and he ate some supper. It is
thought he would have done better to have made his inno-
cence take the field, and to have left word he would return,
when his proper judges* should think fit to summon him. He
has done a real injury to the dukedom, in acknowledgmg the
chamber ; but he was willing to yield a blind obedience to the
commands of his majesty. M. de Cessac has followed the ex-
ample of the countess. Mesdames de Bouillon and De Tingry
were interrogated on Monday at the chamber of the arsenal.
Their noble families attended them to the gate : there is yet
no appearance of blackness in the follies which have been laid
to their charge, nor even so much as a shade of gray. Should
nothing further be discovered, this is a scandal which might
very well have been spared, especially to families of their
high quality. Marshal de Villeroyf says, these gentlemen
and ladies do not believe in God, though they believe in the
devil. In reality, a great many ridiculous things are related
respecting the private transactions of these abominable wo-
men. Madame de la Ferte, who is so properly named, went
out of complaisance (to La Voisin's) with the Countess (de
Soissons), but did not go up stairs ; M. de Langres accompa-
nied Madame de la Ferte ; this is very black ; the circum-
stance has given her a pleasure not often enjoyed by her,
which is, to hear it said that she is innocent.J The Duchess
de Bouillon went to ask La Voisin for a small dose of poison,
to kill an old tiresome husband she had, and a nostrum to

* The parliament of Paris.

f Nicholas de Neufville, Marshal Duke de Yilleroy, father to the last
marshal of that name.

X The Amours des Gaules have rendered notorious her gallantries,
which may be called by a term less mild.

190 LETTERS TO

marry a young man she loved. This young man was M. de
Vendome, who led her by one hand, and M. de Bouillon, her
husband, by the other. When a Mancine* is guilty only of
a folly like this, information is given of it ; and these witches
explain it seriously, and shock all Europe with a mere trifle.
The Countess de Soissons asked whether she could not recover a
lover who had deserted her ? this lover was a great prince ;
and it is asserted that she declared, unless he returned to her,
she would make him repent his ingratitude : that is under-
stood to be the king, and every thing is of importance that
has relation to him ; but let us look to the sequel ; if she has
committed any greater crime, she has not mentioned it to
these baggages. One of our friends says there is an elder
branch of the poison, to which they never refer, as it is not a
native of France. What we have here, are younger branches
only, without shoes to their feet. La T*** f gives us to un-
derstand there is something of greater consequence behind,
as she was schoolmistress to the novices. She says, " I ad-
mire the world ; it really believes I have had children by M.
de Luxembourg." Alas ! God knows whether she has or not ;
the present prevailing opinion, however, is in favor of the in-
nocence of the persons denounced, and a universal horror for
the defamers ; to-morrow it may be the reverse. You well
know the nature of these general opinions ; I shall give you a
faithful account of them ; it is the only subject of conversa-
tion here : indeed there is scarcely an example of such scan-
dal in any court in Christendom. It is said La Voisin put all
the infants, whose abortion she had procured, into an oven •
and Madame de Coulanges, as you may suppose, when speak-
ing of La T***, says, it was for her the oven was heating.
I had a long chat yesterday with M. de la Eochefoucault,

* Madame de Bouillon, as well as the Countess de Soissons, was the
niece of Cardinal Mazarin. It will be seen that she was innocent.

f Madame de Tingry being named twice in this letter and the pre-
ceding one, is it not probable that she is intended by the initial T. ?
She was related to M. de Luxembourg.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 191

on a subject we have already discussed. There is nothing to
oblige you to write ; but he entreats you to believe that what
could give him the highest gratification in the world would
be to have it in his power to contribute to your changing
the place of your residence, should an opportunity offer. I
never saw so obliging or so amiable a man.

What I am going to tell you, I have heard from good au-
thority. Madame de Bouillon entered the chamber like a
queen, sat down on a chair placed there on purpose for her,
and, instead of answering to the first question that was asked
her, demanded that what she should say might be taken down
in writing ; it was, "that her sole reason for coming there was
from the respect she bore to the king's command, and not in
obedience to the chamber, whose authority she in nowise
acknowledged, as she would not derogate from the privileges
of the dukedom." Every word was written down. When she
took oft* her glove, she discovered a very beautiful hand. Her
answers were very sincere ; those respecting her age not ex-
cepted. " Do you know La Vigoureux ?" " ISTo." " Do you
know La Voisin ?" " Yes." u What reason had you to de-
sire the death of your husband ?" " Desire the death of my
husband ! ask him whether he believes a syllable of it. He
gave me his hand to the very gate." " But what was your
reason for so often visiting La Voisin ?" " Because I wanted
to see those Sibyls she promised me I should see ; a company
which certainly well deserved all this noise and scrutiny."
" Did you not show that woman a bag of money ?" She an-
swered, " I did not, and for more reasons than one ;" and then
with a smiling, and at the same time a disdainful air, " Well,
gentlemen, have you done with me ?" " Yes, madame." She
rose, and, as she was going out, said loud enough to be heard?
u I really could not have believed that men of sense would
have asked so many foolish questions." She was received by
all her friends and relations with adoration, she was so pretty,
easy, natural, firm, unconcerned, and tranquil.*

* To render this picture complete, it is necessary to cite another

192 LETTERS TO

La T*** was by no means so cheerful. M. de Luxembourg
is perfectly disconcerted : he is neither a man, nor half a man,
nor even a woman, unless it be a foolish woman. " Shut this
window ; light a fire ; give me some chocolate ; give me that
book ; I have abandoned God, and God has abandoned me."
This is the conduct he displayed before Baisemeaux and his
commissaries, with a countenance pale as death. With noth-
ing better than this to carry to the Bastile, he had better have
gained time, as the king, with infinite goodness, had put into
his power to do, till the very moment before he committed
himself; but we must of necessity have recourse to Providence,
in spite of our efforts to the contrary. It was by no means
natural to behave as he has done, weak as he appears to be.*
I was misinformed : Madame de Meckelbourg has not seen
him ; and La T***, who came with him from St. Germain,
never intended, any more than himself, to give Madame de
Meckelbourg the least notice of it, though he had time enough
to have done it if he had been so inclined ; but La T*** kept
every one from seeing him, and watched him so closely, that
not a soul came to him but herself. I have been to see this
Meckelbourg at the nunnery of the Holy Sacrament, where she
has retired. She is in great affliction, and complains loudly
of La T***, whom she blames for all her brother's misfor-
tunes. I made your compliments to her by way of anticipation,
and assured her you would be extremely grieved to hear of

stroke related by Yoltaire. " La Reynie, one of the presidents of this
chamber, was so ill-advised as to ask the Duchess de Bouillon if she
had seen the devil. She replied that she saw him at that moment ;
that he was very ugly, and very dirty, and was disguised as a coun-
selor of state. The questioner proceeded no further.

* Madame de Sevigne seems to have adopted, at this moment, the
ridiculous reports spread abroad, in regard to M. de Luxembourg. But
is it to be credited that a soul like his was capable of such weakness
as was laid to his charge ? And does it not rather exhibit the common
conduct of envy and malignity, which, in the life-time of men of the
first order, are incessantly endeavoring to tarnish the luster of their
reputation ?

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 193

her ill-fortune. She expressed great regard for you. One
might, at this time, do almost what one pleased at Paris, it
would not be noticed.

LETTER LXXIV.

Paris, Wednesday, February T, 1680.

So, my child, you sometimes play at chess. For my own part,
I am an enthusiast in this game, and would give the world if
I could learn to play it like my son or you. It is the finest
and most rational game of any ; chance has nothing to do with
it ; we blame or applaud ourselves, and our success depends
upon our skill. Corbinelli would fain make me believe I shall
acquire it. He says I have some ideas and schemes of my
own ; but I can not see three or four moves forward into the
game. I assure you I shall be much ashamed and mortified
if I do not, at least, attain mediocrity. Every one played it at
Pomponne when I was last there — men, women, and children ;
and while the master of the house was beating M. de Chaulnes,
he met with a strange check at St. Germain.

There has been a sad melancholy Monday, which you will
easily comprehend. M. de Pomponne is at length gone to
court. He dreaded this very much. You may guess what
his thoughts were on the" road, and when he beheld the court
at Saint Germain, and received the compliments of the court-
iers who surrounded him. He was quite overcome ; and
when he entered the chamber where the king was waiting for
him, what could he say, or how begin ? The king assured
him he had always been satisfied of his fidelity and services ;
that he was perfectly at ease as to the state secrets he was ac-
quainted with ; and that he would give him and his family
proofs of his regard. M. de Pomponne could not help shed-
ding tears when he mentioned the misfortune he had to incur
his displeasure. He added, that with respect to his family, he

left it entirely to his majesty's goodness ; that his only grief

9

194 LETTERS TO

was the being removed from the service of a master to whom
he was attached, as well by inclination as duty ; that it was
next to impossible not to feel so heavy a loss in all its severity ;
that this cut him to the quick, and caused him to betray those
marks of weakness, which he hoped his majesty would forgive.
The king told him he was himself affected at them, that they
proceeded from goodness of heart, and that he ought not to
be offended. The whole discourse turned on this, and M. de
Pomponne came away with eyes somewhat red, and the looks
of a man who had not merited his misfortune. He told me
all this yesterday evening : he could have wished to have been
more firm, but he could not get the better of his emotion.
This is the only occasion in which he has appeared too much
affected ; though it might be said he had not paid his court
badly, if to pay court had been his object. He will soon re-
cover his philosophy, and in the mean time an affair of some
importance is concluded ; these are renewals which we can not
help feeling with him. Madame de Vins has been at Saint
Germain : good God, what a difference ! She had attentions
enough paid her ; but to reflect that that had been her home,
where she has not now a corner to shelter her head in ! I felt
what she underwent in that journey. Adieu, my beloved
child ; I am always impatient to hear from you, but pray write
only two words to me ; renounce long letters forever, and
spare me. It is horrible to think that those who love you, and
who are beloved by you, should be the ruin of your health.

LETTER LXXV.

Paris, Friday, Feb. 9, 1680.
I see you are in the midst of the pleasures of the carnival,
my beautiful dear ; you give little private suppers to eighteen
or twenty ladies ; I am well acquainted with your mode of
life, and the heavy expenses you incur at Aix ; but yet, amid
all this bustle, I fancy you contrive to have plenty of rest.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 195

We say sometimes, I will have pleasure for my money ; but I
think I hear you say, I will have rest for mine : take your rest
then, and enjoy, at least, this advantage. I can not help being
surprised that a minuet-tune does not tempt you sometimes ;
what ! not a single step ! no motion of the shoulders ! quite
insensible ! it is not to be believed, it is unnatural ; I never
yet knew you sit still on these occasions, and, were I to draw
such inferences as I commonly do, I should imagine you much
worse than you say you are.

There was, yesterday evening, an enchanting entertainment
at the Hotel de Conde. The Princess of Conti named one of
the duke's daughters, with the Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon.
First was the christening, then the dinner ; but what a dinner !
then a play, but what a play ! interspersed with fine pieces of
music, and the best opera-dancers. A theater built by the
fairies ; such perspectives, orange-trees loaded with fruits and
flowers, festoons, pilasters, scenes, and other decorations ; in
short, the whole expense of the evening cost no less than two
thousand louis-d'ors, all for the sake of the pretty princess.

The opera (of Proserpine) is superior to every other. The
chevalier tells me he has sent you several of the airs, and that
he saw a gentleman* who said he had sent you the words ; I
dare say you will like it. There is a scene in it,f between
Mercury and Ceres, which requires no interpreter to be under-
stood ; it must have been approved, since it has been per-
formed ; but you will judge for yourself.

The poisoning affair is grown quite flat ; nothing new is said
of it. The report is, that there will be no more blood spilled ;
you will make your own reflections, as we do. The Abbe
Colbert is made Coadjutor of Rouen. They talk of a jour-
ney into Flanders. No one knows what this assembling of
the forces portends.

Friar Ange has raised Marshal de Bellefond from the dead;
he has cured his lungs, that were incurable. Madame do

* Quinault. f See the second scene of tl e first act.

196 LETTERS TO

Coulanges and I have been to visit the grand-master,* who
has been almost at death's door for a fortnight past ; his gout
had returned ; add to this an oppression, which made every
one suppose he was at his last gasp ; cold sweats, lighthead-
edness ; in short, he was ill as it was possible to be. The
physicians could give him no relief ; he sent for Friar Ange,
who has cured him, and brought him from the very gates of
death, by the gentlest and most agreeable medicines ; the op*
pression went off, the gout fell back into his knees and feet,
and he is now out of danger.

Adieu, my dear child ! I still lead the same life, either in
the suburbs, or with these good widows ; sometimes here,
sometimes eating chicken with Madame de Coulanges; but
always pleased to think I am gliding down the stream with
old Time, and hastening the happy moment when I shall see
you again.

LETTER LXXVI.

Paris, Wednesday, Feb. 14, 1680.

I think you extremely fortunate in the society of Madame
du Janet, who is come on purpose for you ; this is a friend-
ship that pleases me. I am fully persuaded her whole employ-
ment will be to take care of your health ; pray embrace her for
me. You give yourself very little concern about the vanities
of this world ; I think I see you constantly retiring and going
to bed, leaving the rest to sing and dance by themselves ; you
will have rest for your money, as I told you the other day.

Montgobert has related to me, very pleasantly, the maneu-
vers of the beautiful Iris, and the jealousy of the count ; I dare
say he will often see the moon with this beauty ; he has re-
venged himself for this time, by a very pretty song. Montgo-
bert made me laugh at her respect for M. de Grignan. She
had written, that he came to the ball la gueule enfarinee (full

* The Duke de Lude.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 197

of expectation) : she recollected herself, erased the gueule, and
wrote the bouche, so that it is now la bouche enfarinee.

The gendarmes are quite bewildered. My son goes to Flan-
ders, instead of meeting the dauphiness. The army is assem-
bling, they say, to take Charlemont.* We know nothing cer-
tain, except that the officers are going to the army, and that
in a month there will be an army of fifty thousand infantry.
The chevalier's regiment is not one of them.

The chamber of the arsenal is again sitting. One of the
committee, whose name is not mentioned, said to M. de la
Reynie : u But, sir, as far as I see, we are only employed about
sorceries and witchcraft, such diabolical proceedings, of which
the parliament of Paris never takes cognizance. Our com-
mission is, to try the case of poisoning ; how comes it that we
inquire into any thing else ?" La Reynie was surprised, and
said, " Sir, we have secret orders." " Be so good, sir," replied
the other, "as to communicate those orders to us, and we will
obey them as well as you ; but, as we are without your knowl-
edge, I think I say nothing contrary to reason and justice, in
thus expressing myself." I am of opinion you will not blame
this man's honesty, though he does not wish to be known.
There are so many, persons of worth belonging to this cham-
ber, that you will find it difficult to guess who he is.

* One of the conditions of the treaty with Spain was, that France,
with other places that were given up to her, should have either Dinanl
or Charlemont. But the emperor, whose consent was necessary, hav-
ing preferred keeping Dinant, France was put in possession of Charle-
mont. There was only a military demonstration. It was upon this
acquisition of Charlemont, M. de Coulanges wrote some verses ending

with,

Louis est un enfant gate ;

On lui laisse tout faire.

" Louis is a spoiled child ; he is suffered to do what he pleases."

This complaisance throughout Europe cost dear to France. The
king, habituated thus to have his own way, adopted three fatal resolu-
tions : he revoked the Edict of Nantes, protected James II., and ac-
cepted the testament of the King of Spain.

198 LETTERS TO

The little Prince de Leon was baptized yesterday at Saint
Gervais, by a bishop of Brittany ; M. de Rennes stood god-
father, as representing the States of Brittany ; the duchess was
godmother. The rest were all Brittany folks : the Governor
of Brittany, the Lieutenant-General of Brittany, the Treasurer
of Brittany, the Deputies of Brittany, several Lords of Brit-
tany, the Presidents of Brittany, father and son. In short,
had there been a dance, they would have danced Brittany
dances ; and have eaten Brittany butter, had it been a meager
day. I assure you, my son feels all the secret power which
attaches the Bretons to their country ; he is returned perfectly
enchanted with it. He has begun, for the first time in his
life, to admire Tonquedec, and to think him worthy of imita-
tion. It would be like stopping the course of the Rhone, to
oppose this torrent, which carries him so far as even to dis-
pose him to sell his place. He said this to Gourville and
several others, before he mentioned it to me. He assigns very
good reasons. He looks forward. He fears the disgusts which
may be occasioned by means of M. de la Trousse. He is sorry
for those who are appointed to the gendarmerie, and has no
wish to be ruined. The sum of the matter is, that by thus
discovering his inmost heart, he would reduce us to the ne-
cessity of saying, " Certainly, he is perfectly in the right to sell
his place." I can not reproach myself with concealing what
my duty obliged me to say on this strange resolution, in which
I expressed myself with the freedom I sometimes indulge my-
self in. I desired him to wait for at least some pretext, some
shadow of dissatisfaction ; in short, to stay for something that
may serve to keep his real thoughts undiscovered. But it was
to no purpose ; for all M. de la Garde and I have been able to
do, is to beg he will not interfere. We are overjoyed at his
absence, as it may be a means of preventing his doing injury
to his affairs, by decrying his own goods. I told him it was
very unfortunate to value commissions merely from whim and
caprice, by his liking and disliking ; to pay an exorbitant price
for the ensigncy, because he was wild for it — to rate the sub-

MADAME DE 6RIGNAN 199

lieutenancy at nothing, because he is disgusted with it. Is it
thus we would buy and sell, unless we were fools, ignorant of
business, and wished to ruin ourselves ? Adieu, my beloved
child ; be not uneasy on this account. Let us adore the dis-
pensations of Providence, whose kindness sends us no greater
subject of complaint. I shall still possess my mind in liberty,
for I shall still be as much yours as ever. This will make no
change in me ; quite the contrary, quite the contrary.

LETTER LXXVII.

Paris, Friday, February 23, 1680.
Indeed, my child, this has been a very pretty week for the
Grignans ; should Providence favor the elder brother in pro-
portion as it has the younger, we might soon expect to see
him in a charming situation. In the mean time, I think it no
disagreeable thing to have brothers in such favor. The
chevalier had scarcely returned thanks for his pension of a
thousand crowns, when he was chosen, out of eight or ten per-
sons of quality and merit, to be an attendant upon the
dauphin, with a salary of two thousand crowns ; so here are
appointments to the value of nine thousand livres a year, in
the space of three days. He immediately went back to Saint
Germain with his second acknowledgments, for it seems he
had been appointed in his absence, while he was here in Paris.
His personal merit has greatly contributed to this choice.
His distinguished reputation, his strict honor and probity, and
the regularity of his conduct, have been remarked ; and it is
the general opinion, that his majesty could not have made a
better choice. There are but eight persons named yet, Dan-
geau, D'Antin, Clermont, Sainte-Maure, Matignon, Chiverni,
Florensac, and Grignan.* The last is universally approved.

* These were afterward reduced to six, viz., MM. Dangeau, D'An-
tin, Saint-Maure, Chiverni, Florensac, and G-rignan.

200 LETTERS TO

Permit me, then, to pay my compliments of congratulation to
M. de Grignan, the coadjutor, and yourself.

My son sets out to-morrow ; he has read the reproaches
you make him. Possibly the charms of the court he wishes
to leave, and where he has so handsome an establishment,
will make him change his opinion. We have prevailed on
him not to be in a hurry, but to wait quietly till he meets
with the temptation of a greater sum than he gave.

You have given me a specimen of M. de Grignan's joy by
my own, in hearing that you are better. As your complaints
are no longer continual, I am in great hopes that, by taking
care of yourself, using a milk diet, and giving up writing, you
will in the end restore my daughter to me as lovely as ever.

I am charmed with Montgobert's sincerity. Had she al-
ways written me word you were well, I should never have
given credit to her. She has managed the whole business to
a miracle, and has won my heart by her candor ; so natural
is it for us to love not to be deceived. May Heaven preserve
you, my dear, in this prosperous state ! which gives us all
such flattering hopes. But to return to the Grignans, for we
seem to have forgotten them. Nothing else is talked of here.
Nothing but complimenting passes in this house ; one has
scarcely done when another begins. I have not seen either
of them since the chevalier has been made a lady of honor, as
M. de Rochefoucault calls it. He will write you all the news
much better than I can possibly do. It is supposed that Ma-
dame de Soubise will not be one of the traveling party. See
how long my letter is growing ! Well, I will only mention
La Voi sin's affair, and conclude.

She was not burned on Wednesday, as I wrote you word ;
the sentence was not executed till yesterday. She knew her
fate on the Monday, a very extraordinary circumstance ! In
the evening, she said to those who guarded her, " What ! no
medianoches !" She ate with them at midnight out of whim,
for it was no fast-day, drank plentifully of wine, and sang sev-
eral drinking songs. On Monday she received the question

MADAME DE GRI6NAN. 201

ordinary and extraordinary. She had now dined, and slept
nearly eight hours. She was confronted while under the tor-
ture with Mesdames de Dreux and Le Feron, and several more.
Her answers have not yet transpired, but every one expects io
hear strange things. She supped in the evening, and, lacerated
and disjointed as she was, gave a loose to her excess, to the
disgust of every one present. They endeavored to make her
sensible of her ill conduct, and that she would be much better
employed in thinking of God, and singing devout hymns, than
such songs ; upon which she sang a psalm or two in mockery,
and then fell asleep. Wednesday was spent in the like con-
fronting, drinking, and singing ; she absolutely refused to let a
confessor come near her. In short, on the Thursday, that is,
yesterday, they denied her all kinds of food, excepting only a
little broth, of which she complained greatly, seeming to be
apprehensive that she should not have strength to carry her
through the business of the day.

She came from Vincennes to Paris in a coach ; she seemed
embarrassed, and as if she wished to conceal what she felt.
They would have had her confess, but she would not hear of
it. At five o'clock she was bound and set on the sledge,
dressed in white, with a taper in her hand. She was extremely
red in the face, and was seen to push away the confessor and
the crucifix with great violence. Madame de Chaulnes, Madame
de Sully, the Countess (De Fiesque), myself, and several others,
saw her pass by the Hotel de Sully. When she came to the
Church of Notre-Dame, she refused to pronounce the amende-
honorable ; and at the Greve, she struggled with all her might
to prevent their taking her out of the sledge ; she was, how-
ever, dragged out by main force, and made to sit down on the
pile, to which she was bound by iron chains, and then covered
over with straw. She swore prodigiously, and pushed away
the straw five or six times : but at length the fire increased,
she sunk out of sight, and her ashes are by this time floating
in the air. This is the end of Madame Voisin, celebrated for

her crimes and her impiety. One of the ju'ges, to whom my

9*

202 LETTERS TO

son happened to mention his surprise at persons being burned
alive in a slow fire, made answer : " My dear sir, there are
some indulgences granted to the women in favor of their sex."
" How, pray sir ? are they strangled ?" " No, sir ; they are
covered with faggots, and the executioner tears off their heads
with iron hooks." So you see, my child, this is not so dread-
ful as we have been told it was. How do you find yourself
after this little story ? It made my blood run cold in my
veins.

LETTER LXXVIII.

Paris, Friday, March 15, 1680.
I am much afraid we shall lose M. de la Rochefoucault. His
fever still continues. He received the sacrament yesterday.
The tranquillity of his mind is really worthy of admiration.
He has settled all affairs of conscience, and his disorder and
the prospect of approaching dissolution give him no concern ;
you would think it was his neighbor at the point of death.
He hears the physicians dispute without being the least affected
by it, and the contentions of the Englishman and Friar Ange,
without saying a word. I return to this verse :

Trop au-dessus de lui, pour y prater l'esprit.*

He would not see Madame de la Fayette yesterday, on account
of her tears, and because he was to receive the sacrament ; but
he sent about noon to know how she was. Believe me, my
child, he has not passed his life in making useless reflections :
he has rendered death so familiar that the prospect is neither
new nor terrific to him. M. de Marsillac arrived the day be-
fore yesterday, at midnight, so overwhelmed with grief, that I
do not think even you could feel more for me. It was a long
time before he could compose himself; at length he came in,
when he found M. de Rochefoucault sitting in his chair, with

* Too superior to himself to pay any attention to it.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 203

an air very little different from that he usually wore. As M.
de Marsillac is the only one of his children who may be said
to enjoy his friendship, it was thought he would be himself
affected at seeing him ; but of this, however, there was not the
smallest appearance, and he even did not name his illness to
him. His son, unable to contain himself any longer, withdrew
to give vent to his grief; when, after a great deal of alterca-
tion, Gourville being against, and Langlade for the Englishman,
each of them supported by different parties in the family, and
the two Esculapian chiefs keeping up all the warmth of their
natural animosity, M. de Marsillac decided in favor of the
Englishman ; and yesterday, at four in the afternoon, M. de la
Rochefoucault took his medicines, and at eight repeated them
again. As there is no getting admittance at present, it is
difficult to learn the truth ; however, I have been told that
after having been last night within an instant of giving up the
ghost through the struggle between the medicine and the
gouty humor, he had so considerable an evacuation that
though the fever has not yet abated, there is reason to hope
for a favorable issue. I am convinced in my own mind that
he will recover, though M. de Marsillac does not yet venture
to admit a ray of hope. I can compare him, in his affections
and grief, to no one but yourself, my dear child, who can not
bear the thoughts of my death. You may well believe that I
shall not give him M. de Grignan's letter at present : it shall
go, however, with those that may come afterward ; for I am
convinced, with Langlade, from whom I learned all I tell
you, that the remedy given will complete the cure.

I want to know how you are, after your journey to Mar-
seilles ; I must chide M. de Grignan for taking you with him ;
I can not approve of such useless jaunts. Must not you also
show Toulon, Hieres, Saint Baume, Saint Maximin, and the
Fountain of Vaucluse, to the Mademoiselles de Grignan ?

I am almost constantly with Madame de la Fayette, who
must be totally insensible to the charms of friendship, and the
affections of the heart, were she less afflicted than she is. I

204 LETTERS TO

close this packet at her house, at nine in the evening ; she has
read your little note ; for, in spite of her fears, she has hope
enough to be able to read it. M. de la Rochefoucault is still
the same ; his legs begin to swell, which the Englishman does
not like ; he seems certain, however, that his medicines will
have the desired effect. If this be true, I shall admire the
great humanity of the physician in not tearing him piecemeal,
for this will be the ruin of them all ; to take the fever out of
their hands, is to take the bread out of their mouths. Du
Chene is very easy about the matter, but all the others are
stark mad.

LETTER LXXIX.

Paris, Sunday, March IT, 1680.

Though this letter will not go till Wednesday, I can not
help beginning it to-day, to inform you that M. de la Roche-
foucault died last night. I am so much engrossed with this
misfortune, and with the extreme affliction of our poor friend *
that I must relieve my mind by communicating the painful
event to you.

Yesterday, which was Saturday, the Englishman's medicine
had done wonders ; all the favorable symptoms of Friday,
which I mentioned to you, were increased ; his friends began
to sing Te Deum in their hearts ; his lungs were clear, his
head free, his fever less, his evacuations such as indicated a
salutary crisis : in this state yesterday, at six o'clock in the
evening, he relapsed, so as to leave no hopes of recovery ; his
fever redoubled in an instant, with an oppression of the chest
and delirium ; in a word, he was suffocated by the treacher-
ous gout, and, notwithstanding he had a great degree of
strength left even after all his bleeding, it carried him off in
less than five hours, so that he expired at midnight in the
arms of the Bishop of Condom. M. de Marsillac did not

* Madame de la Fayette.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 205

leave him a moment ; he is under inexpressible affliction : he
will find, however, some consolation in the king and the court;
and so will the rest of the family, from the place he enjoys :
but when will poor Madame de la Fayette find again such a
friend, such a companion, such kindness, such attention, such
confidence, and such consideration for her and her son ! She
is infirm, confined to her room, and not like other people eter-
nally from home. M. de Rochefoucault was also of a seden-
tary disposition ; their situation rendered them necessary to
each other; so that the mutual confidence and delightful
friendship that subsisted between them was unequaled. Think,
of this, my child, and you will be convinced with me that no
one could sustain a greater loss, for this is not to be repaired
or obliterated even by time. I have never once quitted this
disconsolate friend ; she did not mix in the hurry and confu-
sion of the family, so that she really stood in need of some
pity. Madame de Coulanges has likewise acquitted herself
very well on this occasion, and we shall continue to discharge
our duty even at the hazard of our eyes, which are almost
always filled with tears. You see how unluckily your letters
came ; they have hitherto had no admirers but Madame de
Coulanges and myself; when the chevalier returns he may
possibly find a proper season for presenting them ; meantime
you must write one out of condolence to M. de Marsillac ; he
does honor to filial affection, and is a living proof that you
are not alone in this respect ; but, in fact, I doubt that either
of you will meet with many imitators. The melancholy that
reigns around me has awakened all my sensibility, and makes
me feel the anguish of separation in all its horrors.

LETTER LXXX. Uf

Paris, Wednesday, April 3, 1680.

My dear child, poor M. Fouquet is dead,* and I am affected
at the intelligence : I never knew so many friends lost in a

* Gourville affirms, in his Memoirs, that he was liberated before his

206 LETTERS TO

manner at once, and it overwhelms me with sorrow to see so
many dead around me ; but what is not around me pierces my
heart, and that is the apprehension I suffer from the return of
yo lr former disorders ; for though you would conceal it from
me, I can perceive your flushings, your heaviness, and short-
ness of breath. In short, that flattering interval is now over,
and what was thought a cure has turned out a mere pallia-
tive. I remember your words : that a flame half-quenched is
easily revived. The remedies you treasure up against an evil
day, and which you reckon infallible, ought to be used imme-
diately. Has M. de Grignan no authority on this occasion ? Is
he not alarmed at your situation ? I have seen young Beau-
mont ; I leave you to guess whether I asked him any ques-
tions. When I recollected that he had seen you within a
week, he appeared to me the most desirable companion in the
world. He said you were not quite so well when he set out
as you had been during the winter. He mentioned your sup-
per and entertainment, which he praised highly ; as also the
kind attentions both of you and of M. de Grignan, and the
care M. de Grignan's daughters took that you might not be
missed when you retired to rest. He said wonders of Pauline
and the little marquis ; I should never have been the first to
put an end to the conversation, but he wanted to go to St.
Germain ; for, as he said, he had paid me the first visit, even
before that which he owed to the king his master. His grand-
father had the same place which Marshal de Bellefond has
had :* he was a very intimate friend of my father's ; and in-
stead of seeking out for relations, as is generally the custom, my
father chose him, without further ceremony, to stand sponsor
to his daughter; so that he is my godfatha I am per-
fectly acquainted with all the family. I think the grandson
handsome, extremely handsome. You did well to say nothing

death, and Voltaire believed it, from the account of his daughter-in-
law, Madame de Yaux. But Madame de Sevigne believed he died at
Pignerol, and so did the public. Mademoiselle de Montpensier con-
firms the general opinion. * * Of steward of the household.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 207

to him about your brother : I have myself mentioned it to
no one, except to such persons as my son had previously in-
formed of it, in order to find a purchaser.

I conclude you must by this time be at Grignan. I see
with affliction the bustle of taking leave ; I see, on your quit-
ting your retirement, which appeared to you so short, a jour-
ney to Aries; another fatigue; and I see your journey to
Grignan, where you may possibly be saluted on your arrival
by a northeast wind ; ah ! I can not behold all these things
for a person so delicate as you are, and not tremble.

You have sent me an account of Anfossi infinitely prefer-
. able to all mine. I do not wonder you can not think of part-
ing with an estate where there are so many diverting gipsies.
There could not be a more agreeable or novel reception ; you
are indeed so much a Stoic, and so full of reflections, that I
should fear joining mine to yours, lest I should double the sor-
row ; but I think it would be prudent and reasonable, and
worthy of M. de Grignan's affection, to use his utmost endeav-
ors to be here about the beginning of October. There is no
other place where you can think of passing the winter. But
I will say no more at present ; things urged prematurely lose
all their force, and often create disgust.

There are no more long journeys talked of here ; the only
one spoken of is that to Fontainebleau. You will most assured-
ly have M. de Vendome with you this year. For my part, I
am preparing to set out for Brittany with inexpressible regret ;
but I must go in order to be there, stay a little while, and
return. After the loss of health, which I always, with reason,
place first, nothing gives me so much vexation as the disorder
of my private affairs. It is to this cruel reason I sacrifice my
ease and gratification ; for I leave you to judge what a situa-
ation I am likely to be in, with so much time and solitude on
my hands, to add new force to my anxiety at being separated
from you. This cup, however, I must swallow, bitter as it is,
in hopes of seeing you at my return ; for all my movements
tend to that point. And, however superior I may be to other

208 LETTERS TO

things, that is always superior to me ; it is my fate. And the
sufferings which attend my affection for you, being offered to
God, are a penance due for a love which I ought to bear for
him alone.

My son is just arrived from Douay, where he commanded
the gendarmerie during March. M. de Pomponne has spent
the day here ; he loves, honors, and esteems you perfectly.
My being resident for you with Madame de Vins, occasions
my being often with her ; and, indeed, I could not wish to be
better any where. Poor Madame de la Fayette is now wholly
at a loss how to dispose of herself; the loss of M. de la Roche-
foucault has made so terrible a void in her life, as to render
her a better judge of the value of so precious a friendship.
Every one else will be comforted in time ; but she, alas ! has
nothing to occupy her mind, whereas the rest will return to
their several avocations.

Mademoiselle de Scuderi is greatly afflicted with the death
of M. Fouquet ; that life is at length terminated, which so many
pains have been taken to preserve . His illness was convul-
sions, and a constant retching, without being able to vomit.
I depend on the chevalier for news, especially what relates to
the dauphiness, whose court is composed exactly as you
guessed ; your notions are very just. The king is often there,
which keeps the crowd somewhat at a distance. Adieu, my
dear, affectionate child ; I love you a thousand times more
than I can express.

LETTER LXXXI.

Paris, Friday, April 12, 1680.
You mention the dauphiness to me ; the chevalier can tell
jrou more about her than I can. However, I think she does
not seem to attach herself much to the queen. They have
been to Versailles together, but on other days they generally
make their separate parties. The king frequently visits the

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 209

dauphiness in an afternoon, when he is sure not to be crowded
She holds her circle from eight in the evening* till half after
nine ; all the rest of the day she is alone, or with her ladies
in waiting. The Princess of Conti almost always makes one
of these private parties ; for, as she is yet but very young, she
stands in need of such a pattern to form her conduct by. The
dauphiness is a miracle of wit, understanding, and good edu-
cation. She frequently mentions her mother with great af-
fection ; and says, that she is indebted to her for all the pros-
perity and happiness she enjoys, by the pains she bestowed on
her. She learns music, singing, and dancing ; she reads, she
works at her needle ; in short, she is a complete being. I
must own that I had a great curiosity to see her. According-
ly I went with Madame de Chaulnes and Madame de Carman ;
she was at her toilet when we came in, and engaged in a con-
versation in Italian with the Duke of Nevers. We were pre-
sented to her, and she received us very politely. It is easy
to perceive that, if a moment could be found of putting in a
word opportunely, it would not be difficult to engage her in
conversation. She is fond of Italian, of poetry, of new publi-
cations, music, and dancing. You see that one need not be
long dumb amid such a variety of topics for discourse ; but it
requires time — she was going to mass. Neither Madame de
Maintenon nor Madame de Richelieu was in her apartment.

The court, my dear child, is by no means a place for me ; I
am past the time of life to wish for any settlement there. If
I were young I would take pleasure in rendering myself agree-
able to this princess ; but what right have I to think of return-
ing there ? You see what my views are. As for those of my
son, they seem to have become more reasonable ; he will make
a virtue of necessity, and keep his commission quietly. Indeed
it is not an object for any one to give himself much trouble
to gain, though Heaven knows it has cost us trouble enough ;
but the truth is, that money is very scarce, and he sees plainly
that he must not make a foolish bargain. So, my dear, we
must even wait for what Providence shall bring forth.

210 LETTERS TO

Yesterday the Bishop of Autun pronounced the funeral ora-
tion of Madame de Longueville,* at the church of the Carmel-
ites, with all the powers and grace that man is capable of.
Here was no Tartuffe,\ no hypocrite ; but a divine of rank,
preaching with dignity, and giving an account of that prin-
cess's life with all the elegance imaginable, passing lightly
over the most delicate parts of it, and dwelling upon or omit-
ting all that should or should not be said. His text was these
words, " Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a woman
that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised." He divided his
oration into two parts, equally beautiful; he spoke of the
charms of her person, and of the late wars, inimitably ; and I
need not tell you, that the second part, which was taken up in
giving an account of her exemplary penitence for the last
twenty-seven years of her life, gave him an ample field to ex-
patiate upon the virtues of her mind, and to place her in the
bosom of her God.J He took occasion very naturally to praise

* Anne Genevieve de Bourbon, daughter of Henry Bourbon, second
of the name, Prince of Conde, who died the 15th of April, 1679.

f It was imagined at that time, that the Bishop of Autun (G-abriel
de Roquette) was the person whom Moliere had in view in the charac-
ter of Tartuffe.

We can not forbear adding an epigram of Boileau's upon him :

On dit que l'Abbe Roquette
Preche les sermons d'autrui ;
Moi qui sais qu'il les achete,
Je soutiens qu'il sont a lui.

Which may be Englished by a parody on a well-known epigram in out
language :

The sermons that Roquette pronounces

Are his ; — who 'd so have thought them ?

He swears they 're his ; say not he bounces,

For I know where he bought them !

\ To estimate the skillfulness of the panegyrist, it is proper to know
the soil on which he labored. The life of Madame de Longueville pre-
sented the Abbe Roquette with strange circuitous roads to measure,
before he brought her to the way of salvation, whither he conducted

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 211

the king ; and the prince was also compelled to digest a great
many eulogiums ; but as delicately prepared, though in a dif-
ferent manner, as those of Voiture. This hero was present,
as were the duke, the Princess of Conti, and all the family, be-
ides an infinite number of other persons; though, in my
opinion, too few, for I think this respect was at least due to
ihe prince, on occasion of an event he had not yet ceased to
lament. You may perhaps ask me how I came there ? Ma-
dame de Guenegaud offered the other day at M. de Chaulnes',
to take me with her ; as it was not inconvenient to me, I was
tempted to embrace the offer ; and I assure you I did not at
all repent having done so. There were a great many women
present, who had as little to do there as myself. Both the
prince and the duke paid great attention to all who were
there.

I saw Madame de la Fayette as we were coming out of the

her. She was one of the three ladies of whom Cardinal de Mazarin
said to Don Louis de Haro : " We have three, among others, who cre-
ate greater confusion than arose at the tower of Babel. " Like Madamo
de Chevreuse and La Palatine, the part she took in the intrigues of the
minority of Louis XIV. is notorious ; like them, she united the tri-
umphs of beauty to the success of factions, and the love of business to
the love of amours. Voiture represents her as already serious and po-
litical, when, at an early age, she appeared at the Congress of Munster,
where her husband presided over the French embassy. The Fronde
began; her artifices and blandishments seduced the sage Turenne,
when he came at the head of the Spaniards to give battle to the French.
Beloved, not much in the style of a brother, by the Prince de Conti,
she made him the chief of the Frondeurs, and general of the insurgents,
thus opposing him to her other brother, the great Conde, who com-
manded the army of the court. It was she who afterward dragged
this hero into the civil war, and joined him to the Spaniards. She long
wandered as a heroine, or as Cardinal de Retz said, who had himself
been her lo'ver, as a fugitive adventurer. She went alternately, com-
manding or intriguing, to Holland, Flanders, Dieppe, Stenay, Montrond,
Bordeaux. In 1649 she reigned in the H6tel-de-ville of Paris, and did
what no one had ever done before, nor will perhaps do after her, she
lay-in there ; and that at a time when this hotel served as a palace to
the court, as the seat of government, and as the head-quarters of the

212 LETTERS TO

church ; she was bathed in tears ; it seems that some of Ml
de la Rochefoucault's hand-writing had by accident fallen in
her way, which had awakened all her sorrows. I had just
parted from the Mesdemoiselles de la Rochefoucault at the
Carmelites, who had been also weeping the loss of their father ;
the eldest, in particular, equaled M. de Marsillac in affection-
ate sorrow. I really do not think that Madame de la Fayette
will ever be comforted ; for my part, I am the worst of any
of her acquaintance to be with her ; for we can not help in-
dulging ourselves in talking of that worthy man, and the con-
versation is death to her. She was certainly more deserving
of his regard than any of those he had an affection for. She
has read your little note, and thanks you warmly for the man-
ner in which you seem to enter into her grief.

Have I told you of the reception Madame de Coulanges met
with at St. Germain ? The dauphiness told her that she already

army. Two of her lovers, the Count de Coligny and the Duke de Ne-
mours, were killed in a duel. The first fought by her orders, in her
quarrel, and under her inspection. The Duke de la Rochefoucault,
who had long loved her, was betrayed by her, both as a friend and as
a lover. When the peace of the Pyrenees had brought back the princes
to France, it was found that age prescribed repose to her, at the same
time that the state of affairs obliged her to it. She endeavored at first
to escape it, by forming a party for Yoiture's sonnet against Bense
rades. But these little contests of wit were insipid, in comparison with
those she had been engaged in. Nothing remained for her but devo-
tion ; and as a character and a party were always essential to her, she
became the protectress of the Jansenists at court, and, what is more,
mediatrix between them and Rome. For it was Madame de Longue-
ville who in 1668 mediated the theological transaction which suspended
the debates of the Formulary, and which was called the peace of Cle-
ment IX. Singular woman ! who had the art of making herself con-
spicuous while working out her salvation, and of saving herself on the
same plank from perdition and from ennui. It was asserted at the
time, that she died for want of food, and there is no doubt she practiced
the most rigid austerities. " Though naturally delicate," says Madame
de Maintenon, "she never relaxed in the practice of self-denial."
There is a life of this lady in two volumes by Villefore, which is said
to be well written.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 213

knew her by her letters ; that her ladies had also told her a
great deal of her wit, and that she wished to judge of it her-
self. Madame de Coulanges supported her character admira-
bly upon the occasion ; her repartees were brilliant, sallies of
wit flew without number ; in the afternoon she was invited to
be of the princess's private party, with her three friends : all
the ladies of the court would have strangled her. You see
that by means of these friends she gets admittance to a private
conversation ; but what does all this tend to ? She can not
be one of their party in public, nor at table. This spoils the
whole ; she is fully sensible of the humiliation; and has been
these four days tasting these pleasures and dissatisfactions.

LETTER LXXXE.

Paris, Wednesday , 2fay 1, 1680.

I know not what weather you may have in Provence, but
we have had for these weeks past such horrible weather here
that several journeys have been delayed by it, and mine
among the rest. The good abbe had like to have perished in
going and coming from La Trousse ; so says M. de la Trousse —
you would not have believed me. They had an architect
with them, and went to give orders about some alterations,
which will make this house, which we before thought so beau-
tiful, hardly to be known again.

We have a new moon to-day, which I hope will bring fine
weather with it, and let me set out ; I have not yet fixed on
what day I shall go. I can not express the concern this second
parting gives me ; I must surely be out of my senses to re-
move so much further from you, and to place a distance of a
hundred leagues more between us than there is already. I
have a mortal aversion to business ; it takes up so great a por-
tion of our time, and makes us run hither and thither just as
it pleases. I shall be so affected when I am setting out, that
those who hand me into my carnage may very naturally

214 LETTERS TO

think it is at parting with them. I am certain I shall not be
able to refrain from tears, and yet I must go, if it is only that
I may come back again.

Mademoiselle de Meri is now in possession of your apart-
ment ; the noise of that little door opening and shutting, and
the circumstance of not finding you there, have affected me
more than I can express. All my people do their best to
serve her. And if I were vain, I could show you a letter I
received from her the other day, full of thanks for the assist-
ance I have given her ; but as I am very modest, you know, I
will content myself with placing it in my archives.

I have seen Madame de Vins ; she is buried in her law-suits.
However, we find time to chat together, and express our mu-
tual wonder at the odd medley of good and evil in this world,
and the impossibility of being truly happy. You know all
that fortune has hitherto done for the Duchess of Fontanges.
What she has reserved for her is this : so violent a flux, with
some degree of fever, that she is confined to her bed at Mau-
buisson, and her fine face already begins to swell. The Prior
of Cabrieres does not quit her for an instant ; if he effects a
cure, he will not make his fortune badly at court. Think
whether her situation does not derogate somewhat from her
happiness. Here is further room for reflection. But to an-
other subject.

Madame de Dreux was liberated from prison yesterday ; she
was only reprimanded, which is a very slight punishment, and
fined five hundred livres, which are to be distributed in alms.
This poor lady has been confined a whole year in a room, where
the light came in only by a small hole at the top, without
tidings of any thing going on, or without comfort. Her mo-
ther, who doted on her, who was herself still young and
handsome, and who was equally beloved by her daughter, died
about two months ago, of grief at her child's situation. Ma-
dame de Drenx was ignorant of this event ; and yesterday,
when her husband and all the family went with open arms to
the place where she was confined, to receive her, the first

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 215

word she spoke on seeing them enter her room, was, " Where
is my mother ? Why is she not here ?" M. de Dreux told
her she was waiting for her at home. The poor creature
could not, however, enjoy the satisfaction of being at liberty ;
but was incessantly inquiring what ailed her mother, that she
was certain she must be ill, or she would have come to em-
brace her after so long a separation. At length she got home.
" What ! my mother not here ? I do not see her, I do not
hear her !" She flew up stairs. No one knew what to say
to her; all were in tears. She ran into her mother's apart-
ment, she looked about her, called, but received no answer ; at
length a Celestine friar, who was her confessor, appeared, and
told her that she must not hope to see her mother again till
they met in heaven, and that she must submit with resigna-
tion to the Divine will. Upon hearing this she fainted away,
and when she recovered, burst into tears and lamentations,
which pierced the hearts of all present, crying that it was she
who had killed her mother ; that she had rather have died in
prison, than have been set at liberty to know the loss of so
excellent a parent. Coulanges, who had run to M. de Dreux's,
like many other friends, was witness to the whole of this af-
fecting scene, which he related to us yesterday so naturally and
pathetically, that Madame de Coulanges' eyes looked red, and
I wept heartily, being wholly unable to suppress my tears.
What think you, my child, of this bitter ingredient thrown
into the cup of joy and triumph, to overpower the congratula-
tions and embraces of a whole family and their friends ? The
poor soul is still in tears, notwithstanding all M. de Richelieu's
endeavors to dry them for her. He has indeed done wonders
in this affair.

I have been insensibly led into this long detail, which you will
comprehend better than any one, and which has affected every
heart. It is believed that M. de Luxembourg will be set at
liberty upon as easy terms as Madame de Dreux ; for some of
the judges would have released her without even being repri-
manded. And, upon the whole, the treatment of the accused

216 LETTERS TO

persons has been shocking and scandalous, considering that
nothing was proved against them. This, however, shows the
integrity of the judges.

We all approve the discourses of your preacher ; we have
envied and admired him. The passion-sermon, which we
heard not far from hence, was a most extraordinary one ; I
assure you the terms rascal and scoundrel were made use o^
to express the humiliation of our blessed Saviour. Do not
these terms convey noble and sublime ideas? Bourdaloue
preached like an angel from heaven, both last year and this,
for it is the same sermon.

What you write me about this world appearing quite an-
other world, if we could draw aside the curtain in eveiy
family, is both well expressed and perfectly true. Good
heavens ! who can tell whether even the heart of the princess,
whom we praise so much, is thoroughly contented ? She has
appeared dull" these three or four days past ; who knows how
things are with her ? She would be with child, and she is
not. Perhaps she wants to see Paris and St. Cloud, and she
has not yet seen them. She is extremely affable ; she studies
to please. Who knows but this may cost her some uneasi-
ness ? Who knows whether she is pleased alike with all the
ladies who have the honor of attending upon her? And
lastly, who knows but she may be weary of so retired a life ?

I have this very moment received your amiable melancholy
letter of the 24th. Believe me, my dear child, it sensibly
affects me. I am not yet set out, the bad weather detains me,
for it would have been folly to expose myself in such a season.
This has unhinged every thing. I shall write to you from
Paris again, on Friday, and will tell you about the alterations
that are going on : I gave my opinion first, and am not so silly
as you think, when you are in the case. We read in history*

* Every one knows that painting and sculpture took their rise from
love, and that a marshal, who fell in love with a painter's daughter,
became an excellent painter, merely by endeavoring to please his mis-
tress.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 217

of greater miracles : there are affections which do not yield to
the other passion ; hence I am become an architect.

I admire extremely what you say respecting devotion. Good
heavens ! how truly may it be said that we are all like Tantalus
with water close to our lips, and unable to drink ! Let the
heart be cold, the understanding enlightened, it is just the
same. I have no need of the dispute between the Jansenists
and Molinists to decide this matter. What I feel myself is
sufficient, and how can I doubt it, if I observe myself an in-
stant ? I could talk a long time, and with infinite pleasure on
this subject, if we were together, but you stop short, and I am
silent. Corbinelli had. his share of your letter, for I am fond
of his frank truths. He has just heard a sermon of the Abbe
Flechier's,* at the taking the vail of a young Capuchin nun,
which has charmed him. The subject was the freedom of the
children of God, which he explained in a bold and masterly
style. He showed " that this young person alone could be
called free, because she partook of the freedom of Christ and
his saints ; and she was released from the slavery in which we
are held by our passions ; that it was she who was free, and
not we ; that she had but one master, whereas we had a hun-
dred ; and that instead of lamenting for her, as we did, with a
worldly sorrow which was blamable, we ought to consider,
respect, and even envy her, as a person chosen from all eternity
to be of the number of the elect." I have not repeated the
tenth part of what he said on this subject ; but it was altogether
a finished pietfe. The funeral oration on Madame de Longue-
ville is not to be printed.

You ask me why I do not take Corbinelli with me ? He is
going into Languedoc, loaded with the favors and civilities of
M. de Vardes, who has accompanied his pension of 120 francs
with so excellent a seasoning, I mean so many kind and affec-
tionate sentiments, that our friend's philosophy could not with-
stand it. Vardes is always in extremes; and as I am

* Esprit Flechier, made Bishop of Lauvar in 1685, and removed
from thence to Nimes in 1687.

10

218 LETTERS TO

persuaded that he formerly hated him, because he had used
him ill, he now loves him, because he uses him well : this is
the Italian proverb and its reverse.* I am going there with
only the good abbe, and a few books, and your idea, which
will prove the source of all my pleasure or pain. I assure you
it will keep me from staying out in the evening dews : I shall
recollect that it would displease you ; and this will not be the
only time you have prevented me from continuing my evening
walk, and made me return 'home. I promise to consult you,
and to follow your advice at all times ; do the same by me,
and be under no alarms ; rest assured that I will take care of
myself ; I wish I could put the same confidence in you ; but I
have many subjects of complaint against you on this score ;
and without going further than Monaco, have I not the banks
of the Rhone, whither you forced the stoutest hearts in your
family to accompany you, in spite of themselves ? I repeat it,
in spite of themselves ; and be pleased to remember, on the
other hand, that I should die with fear even to pass les vaux
D'Olioulesf on foot. This confession of my cowardice is suf-
ficient to prove my apprehensions and ensure your confidence.
Let then, my dear child, the remembrance of me govern you,
in some degree, as yours always governs me.

I fancy my son will meet me at Orleans. I am aware of
the attentions of M. de Grignan : he has politeness, nobleness,
and even affectionate tenderness; but he has some points
which are not so agreeable, and more difficult to be conceived ;
and as every thing is cut diamond-wise, he has many sides
which are inimitable, so that we are at once tempted to love
and to scold him, to esteem and to blame, to embrace and to
beat him.

Adieu, my dear child ; I must now leave you. Surely you
mean to laugh at me when you express your apprehensions lest

* Chi offende non per dona. The offender never pardons.

f Les vaux D'Olioules, or, as it is called in the dialect of that country,
lets baous D' Oulioules, is a narrow pass by the side of a river, about ft
league in length, running between two steep hills, in Provence.

MADAME DE GEIGNAN. 219

I should write too much. My lungs are almost as delicate as
Georget's :* excuse the comparison, it comes from hence. But
for you, my child, let me conjure you not to write. Montgo-
bert, pray do not abandon me, but step in and take the pen
from her hand.

LETTER LXXXni.

Paris, Monday, May 6, 1680.
Tou observe with great humor, that, if the human heart is
left to itself, it will always find something to comfort itself
with, and that its disposition is to be happy. I hope mine
will have the same disposition as others, and that time and the
air will abate the uneasiness I at present endure. I think you
borrowed from me what you say about the passion of separa-
ting ourselves from each other ; it might be supposed that we
thought ourselves too near neighbors, and that after mature
deliberation it had been resolved on both sides to make a vol-
untary removal of three hundred leagues further asunder.
You see I in a manner copy your own letter ; the reason is,
that you have given so agreeable a turn to my idea, that Itake
pleasure in repeating it. I hope at last, the sea will set bounds
to our passion, and that after having retired, each to a certain
distance, we shall return back, and advance toward each other
as fast as we have receded. It is certain that for two persons
who seek each other's company, and delight in being together,
we have had the most singular destiny. Whoever were to seek
to destroy my faith in Providence, would deprive me of my
only comfort ; and if I thought it was in our own power to
settle or unsettle, to do or undo, to will one thing or another,
I should never have a moment's peace. The Creator of the
universe must be with me the director of every event that hap-
pens ; and when I look to him as the cause, I blame no one,
and submit with humility, though not without inexpressible

* A celebrated ladies' shoemaker at Paris.

220 LETTERS TO

grief of heart ; at the same time I put my trust in Him, that
He will again bring us together as he has done before.

LETTER LXXXIY.

The Rocks, Friday, May 31, 1680.

Notwithstanding this letter will not go till Sunday, I am re-
solved to begin it to-day, that I may date once more in the
month of May. I fear that of June will appear still longer to
me. I am certain, however, of not seeing so fine a country as
the one I have left. There is a month in the year in which it
rains every day ; this is owing to your prayers ; why will you
not leave Providence a little to itself ? sometimes too much
rain, sometimes too great drought ; you are never contented.
God forgive me ! but this puts me in mind of the story of Ju-
piter in Lucian, who is so wearied with the incessant importu-
nities of mortals, that he sends Mercury to inquire into the
matter, and, at the same time, orders ten thousand bushels of
hail to fall upon Egypt, to stop their mouths.

I will no longer oblige you to answer me on the subject of
the Divine Providence, which I so greatly revere ; and which,
in my opinion, commands and orders every thing in the world.
I am persuaded you will not dare to treat this opinion as an
inconceivable mystery, with the disciples of your Father Des-
cartes ; it would be indeed inconceivable, that God should have
made the world, and not direct all that passes in it. Those
who make such fine restrictions and contradistinctions in their
writings, speak much more freely, and with greater truth on
the subject, when they have no crooked policy to govern them.
These cutpurses are very agreeable in their conversation. I
shall not mention their names, because I fancy you guess the
principal one : the others are the Abbe du Pile, and M. Du-
bois,* whom you are acquainted with, and who has an infinite

* Dubois, of the French Academy, who translated several works of
Cicero and Saint Augustin.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 221

share of wit. Poor Nicole is still in the Ardennes * and M.
Arnauld buried under ground, like a mole.f But whither is
my pen running ? This is not what I meant to say to you.
I intended to tell you that I received your letters at the place
where we dined the day I left Nantes, and that, having no
other means of conversing with you at so great a distance,
the reading of them forms an occupation preferable to every
other.

We found the roads greatly improved between Nantes and
Rennes, thanks to the care of M. de Chaulnes ; but the inces-
sant rains we have had of late have made them as if two win-
ters had followed close upon each other. We were continually
in sloughs, or rivers of water ; we did not dare to cross over
by Chateaubriant, for fear of being unable to get further. We
arrived at Rennes on Ascension eve, and dear good Marbeuf
was ready to devour me ; nothing would satisfy her, but my
taking up my abode for a time at her house, but I refused ; I
would neither sup nor sleep there : the next day she gave me
a very elegant public breakfast, when the governor, and every
person of note in the town, came to visit me. We set out
again at ten o'clock, though every body assured me, that I had
time enough before me, and that the roads were like this room;
for that, you know, is the usual comparison : however, we
found them so much like this room, that we did not get there
till after midnight, and were all the way up to the axle-trees
in water, and from Vitre to this place, a road I have passed a
thousand and a thousand times, it was impossible to know it
again ; the causeways are become impassable ; the ruts are sunk
to a frightful depth ; the little inequalities are perfect mount-

* The forest of Ardennes, in the Low Countries.

f After the death of Madame de Longueville, these able writers,
fearing persecution, left France. Arnauld retired into the Low Coun-
tries, where he lived long unknown and in poverty. He remained
there till his death. Nicole, more conciliating and less dreaded, re-
turned to France. He figured in the quarrel of Bossuet and Fenelon,
He supposed the former, but with prudence and moderation.

222 LETTERS TO

ains and caverns ; in a word, finding that we could no longer
find our way, we sent to Pilois for help ; he came accordingly-
bringing with him about a dozen stout country-fellows, some
of whom held up the carriage, while others went before with
wisps of lighted straw ; and all spoke such jargon, that we
were ready to die with laughing; at length, thus attended, we
arrived here, our horses jaded, our people dripping, our car-
riage almost broken down, and ourselves tolerably fatigued ;
we made a very light supper, went to bed, slept heartily, and
this morning, when we awoke, we found ourselves safe and
sound at the Rocks, though very much out of sorts. I had
taken the precaution to send a servant before us, that we might
not come into the midst of a dust of four years standing ; and
we are tolerably decent at least. We have been entertained
with a great number of visitors from Vitre, such as the Recol-
lets, Mademoiselle du Plessis, still in tears for her mother, etc.
etc., but I had not a moment's comfort till I had got rid of
them all, which was about six o'clock in the evening, and had
spent a little time in my woods, with honest Pilois. The
walks and alleys are really enchanting; there are half a
dozen new ones you have never seen. By the by, be under
no apprehension about my exposing myself to the damps ; I
know it would make you angry if I did, and that is sufficient
to deter me.

You always tell#me that you are in good health, and so does
Montgobert ; and yet I can not help thinking that the plan
of plunging twice a day into the Rhone can only suit a person
whose blood is violently heated. I entreat you, my child, to
consult a very grave and learned author in regard to the ef-
fects bathing may have on your lungs : you know I was wit-
ness to the evident injury you sustained from your half-baths,
though they were advised by Fagon.*

You must certainly have stood in need of all your strength
to support the numerous visitors you have had ; twenty per-
sons extraordinary at table makes me start a little. These are

* First physician to Louis XIV.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 223

whole retinues, as Corbinelli used to call them, when he found
aimself so crowded in your drawing-room, and neither saluted
aor took notice of any one ; it must be owned that your house
ts the most frequented of any in the country ; this is living at
rack and manger. Do you remember when we had all the
Fouesnels here, with what impatience we waited for the happy
minute when they were to take their leave ; how cheerfully we
bid them adieu in our hearts, and how terrified we were lest
they should yield to the false entreaties we made them to
stay ; how our hearts bounded when we saw them fairly gone ;
and our reflections how much bad company was preferable to
good, the latter occasioning pain when they leave us, whereas
the departure of the other takes a wTeight from the mind, and
restores it to freedom ? do you remember all this, and how
perfectly we enjoyed ourselves upon the occasion ?

Madame de Ooulanges writes me word that Madame de
Maintenon has lost a cane to the dauphin ; Madame de Cou-
langes has ordered it to be made. The head is a pomegranate
of gold, studded with rubies ; it opens and discovers the mini-
ature picture of the dauphiness, with these words underneath,
II piu grato nasconde.* Clement formerly made this device
for you ; but that which seemed an exaggeration when applied
to you, is perfectly true with regard to this princess. The*
beautiful Fontanges still continues very ill. My son tells me
they pass their time very pleasantly at Fontainebleau. Cor-
neille's comedies are the delight of the whole court ; I have
written to my son that it must be a great pleasure to be
obliged to be there, to have a master, a place, and the favor
of the great ; and had it been my case I should have been ex-
tremely fond of that part of the world ; that the contrary was
the sole reason of my removing to such a distance from it ;
that this kind of contempt was, in fact, the result of disap-
pointment and vexation, and that / abused it out of pure re-
venge, as Montaigne says of youth ; in short, that I wondered
how he could prefer passing his time as I do, with Madame du

* The greatest charms are concealed.

224 LETTERS TO

Plessis and Mademoiselle de Launay, to spending it in the
midst of all that is gay and great.

What I say for myself, my child, I say in reality for you ;
for do not imagine, if M. de Grignan and you were situated
agreeably to your merit, that you would have any dislike to
such a life ; but it does not please Providence that you should
arrive at more greatness than you at present possess. As to
myself, I have seen the day when little, very little, was wanting
for fortune to have placed me in the most agreeable situation
in the world ; when, all of a sudden, the scene changed to im-
prisonment and exile.* Do you think my fortune has been the
happiest in the world ? yet I am content ; or, if I have my
moments of murmuring, it is not on my own account.

Your description of Madame D.'s conduct is very amusing ;
it is a sort of economy in love, worthy of Armida. You seem
to believe that M. de Rouille will not return ; I am sorry for
it, and I should be still more so were it not that I believe your
stay in Provence almost at an end, and consequently that you
can have little occasion for him. If any thing is to be done
in the assembly, the coadjutor will give a good account of it,
in the absence of M. de Grignan.

LETTER LXXXV.

The Rocks, "Wednesday, June 5, 1680.
At length I have the pleasure, at this immense distance
from each other, to receive your letters on the ninth day after
they are written, with the prospect of happier times before
me. I often admire the great kindness and civility of those
gentlemen of whom the author of Moral Essays speaks so«

* Madame de Sevigne alludes to the banishment of M. de Bussy, the
chief of her house, and the confinement of M. de Fouquet, her inti-
mate friend. To which may be added, the exile of the Arnaulds, and,
further back still, the misfortunes of Cardinal de Retz, her relation and
friend

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 225

humorously, and to whom we are so much indebted. What do
they not do for us ? To what offices do they not submit, to
be useful to us ? Some run four or five hundred miles to carry
our letters ; others, at the hazard of their necks, climb to the
tops of our houses, to prevent our being incommoded by the
rains ; and others suffer still more. In short, this is an ar-
rangement of Providence ; and the thought of gain, which is
in itself an evil, becomes converted into a source of good.

I have brought a number of the best authors with me,
which I have been arranging this morning. There is no look-
ing into them, whichever it may be, without a desire to read
it through. Some are religious tracts that do honor to the
faith they maintain ; others books of history, the best of their
kind ; besides ethics, poety, novels, and memoirs. The ro-
mances are in disgrace, and banished to a by-closet. "When
I enter this little library I wonder how I am able to leave it
again. In short, my child, it is altogether worthy of your
presence, and so are my walks ; but, for the company, it is
very far from being so. There is strange skimming of the
pot on Sundays :* one good thing, however, is, that they sup
at six o'clock, and leave me to fly to my lawns and groves for
relief. Madame du Plessis, in her deep mourning, never quits
me. I could well say of her mother as of M. de Bonneuil,
she has left a very ridiculous daughter behind her : she is so
impertinent too. I am really ashamed of her regard for me,
and I sometimes say to myself, Is it possible there can be any
sympathy between her and me ? She talks incessantly ; but
by the grace of God, I am to her, as you are to many others,
absolutely dead ; I do not hear three words she says. She is
at daggers drawn with all her family about her mother's will :
this is a new embellishment to the former beauties of her
mind : she confounds the meaning of every thing she says ;

* On account of the number of visitors, which was always greatest
on Sundays, and to whom Madame de Sevigne thought herself obliged
to do the honors of her house, which she humorously called skimming
her pot

10*

226 LETTERS TO

and when she is complaining of the ill-treatment she receives,
she cries, They have used me like a barbarity, like a cruelty.
You will have me entertain you with such trash, and now I
hope you have enough for a time.

My letters are of such an enormous length that you ought,
according to your rule, to make yours to me very short, and
leave all the rest to Montgobert. Health is at all times a real
and intrinsic treasure, that will serve us on every exigency.
Madame de Coulanges has written me a thousand trifles, that
I would communicate to you, but that I think it would be ab-
solutely ridiculous. The favor of her female friend (Madame
de Maintenon) still continues. The queen accuses her of the
cause of the distance between her and the dauphiness. The
king comforts her for this disgrace : she visits him every day,
and their conversations are of a length that surprises every
body, and gives occasion to numberless conjectures.

I consider futurity as a dark road, in which the traveler
may find light and accommodation when he least thinks of it.

M. de Lavardin is going to be married* in good earnest ;
and Madame de Moucif is said to be the person who in-
spires Madame de Lavardin with the idea of doing every
thing that can prove advantageous to her son. This De Mouci
must certainly have a most extraordinary soul. Young Molac
is to marry the Duchess of Fontanges's sister ; the king gives
him to the value of 400,000 francs with her.

How just is your observation upon the death of M. de la
Rochefoucault and so many other friends ! " The ranks close,
and he is seen no more." It is certain that Madame de la
Fayette is overwhelmed with grief, and can not feel, as she
would have done at another time, the good fortune of her son.
The dauphiness was particular in her attentions to her : the
Princess of Savoy has spoken of her as her best friend.

* To Louise-Anne de Noailles, sister to Anne Julius Duke of JSToailles,
and Marshal of France.

+ Marie de Harlaie, sister to Achilles de Harlaie, at that time attor
ney-general, and afterward first president of the parliament of Paris.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 227

I am very glad my letter pleased M. de Grignan : I spoke
my mind with great sincerity. He must divest himself of all
those ruinous whims, which take their turns with him by the
quarter. They must not merely sleep, like the nobility of
Lower Brittany, but be altogether extinct.

Adieu, my beloved child ; I admire and love your letters,
and yet I will have no more of them ; cut short, and leave
Montgobert to prattle in your stead. I will try to take from
you the desire of writing much : by the length of my letters
you shall find them beyond your strength to answer, which is
just what I wish ; so shall I be a shield to you. I am of
opinion that you have a numerous correspondence upon your
hands, say what you will ; for my part, I only stand upon the
defensive in my answers, I never begin the attack ; but then,
even these seem of such a bulk, that, on post-days, when I re-
tire to my chamber at night, and see my writing-desk, I am
ready to run under the bed to hide myself, like our late mad'
ame's little dog, whenever it saw a book.

LETTER LXXXVI.

The Rocks, Wednesday, June 12, 1680.
So, I have written a sermon without thinking of it ! I am
as much surprised at this as the Count de Soissons,* when he
was told he had made prose. It is true, I feel myself disposed
to do all honor to the grace of Christ. I do not cry out, as
the queen-mother did in the excess of her zeal against those
vile Jansenists, " Ah ! ^e, fie upon grace !" I say the contrary,
and can bring good vouchers for it. Since you have imparted
to me your visions, with regard to the fortunes of your broth-
ers-in-law, I will tell you sincerely that I was afraid the air
of a house, where saving grace was sometimes talked of, might

* It is singular that Moliere should have found in a nobleman the
most laughable instances of ignorance, with which he endows his
Bourgeois Gentilhomme.

228 LETTERS TO

have injured the Abbe de Grignan. Thank heaven, I have
done no more harm than yourself ; and if I am silent for the
future, as I ought, and certainly shall be, it will not be from
the fear of injuring any one. Your young bishops are seldom
suspected of this heresy. I have just been writing to the
chevalier : he has absolutely forgotten me, and as he is not
infected with the Grignan indolence, it may be a serious busi-
ness.

Your great building, my dear, is begun to-day ; Du But
will do all he can to hasten the workmen. There was no pos-
sibility of commencing sooner, and there is time enough to
complete every thing. I send you a letter of Madame de La-
vardin's, by which you will see what are her sentiments. I
am almost tempted to send you likewise a very long letter I
have received from Madame de Mouci, in which she takes
pleasure in acquainting me with every thing she has done
relatively to this marriage ; she has made choice of me, in
preference to any other person, to communicate the whole of
his conduct to. She is in the right ; the second volume is
Worthy the admiration of any one who had read the first.
She seems happy in taking every opportunity of loading M.
de Lavardin with favors, by means of the influence she has
over his mother. She has made her give a thousand pounds
worth of pearls ; she has made her give all the fire-irons,
stoves, candlesticks, tables, and silver waiters, that were worth
having ; handsome tapestry, fine old furniture, with linen and
dressing gowns, which Madame de Mouci selected herself.
Her heart takes this method of avenging itself; but for her it
would have been a mere village wedding. She has made her
give considerable estates to her son, and, to crown all, she will
manage so that the new married couple will not live in the
same house with the mother, whose overbearing temper, and
rigid observance of hours, would by no means suit the young
couple. Madame de Mouci delights in displaying to me the
liberality of her soul, and I am amazed to see the extraordi-
narv manner in which she contributes to M. de Lavardin's

MADAME DE 6BIGNAN. 229

happiness. The desire of being singular, and of distinguishing
ourselves by stepping a little out of the common road, seems
to me to be the source of many virtues. She writes me word
that she should be very happy if I were at Paris, because I
should understand her ; no one else being able to comprehend
what she is doing. She adds besides that I should die with
laughing, to see the grimaces Madame de Lavardin makes,
every time the devil of avarice is cast out of her by the power
of her exorcisms. The poor lady seems perfectly exhausted,
like the nuns of Loudun* It must certainly be a very comic
scene.

I have also received some very entertaining letters from the
Marchioness d'Huxelles. The fair widows do wonders. Ma-
dame de Coulanges assures me, that she is to set out on the
20th for Lyons ; she writes me a thousand trifles. This city
will become the source of all the private intelligence of the
court ; but do you suppose she will communicate any of this
precious commodity to the inhabitants ?

I had a visit the other day from an Augustin friar, a poor
creature, a very poor creature indeed. He assumed the airs
of a preacher, but I answered his pompous ignorance only
with a smile of contempt ; he still went on, till at last I was
strongly tempted to throw a book at his head. I fancy Ma-
dame de Coulanges will be ready to reply in the same way to
the ladies of Lyons. Young Coulanges will be with you ; he
has given up M. de Chaulnes and Brittany for Lyons and the
Grignans. I am quite of his opinion, my dearest child, and
my greatest joy would be to make one of your party. Ah !

* Alluding to the Histoire des Diables de Loiodun, History of the
Devils of Loudun. It is well known that the fierce hatred of Cardinal
de Richelieu, the maneuvers of the Capuchin Joseph, and the cruelty
of the judge, Laubardement, caused the unfortunate cure Urbain Grand-
ier to perish in the flames, as convicted of the crime of magic, " upon
the deposition of Ashtaroth, devil of the order of Seraphims, and chief
of the possessing devils, and Eusas, Cham, Acaos, Zebulan, Nephthaim,
Uriel, and Acas, of the order of the principalities." These are the
terms of the sentence.

230 • LETTERS TO

how I should like to sup in your delightful grotto ! How
pleased I should be with M. de Grignan's music, and those
beautiful passages in the opera, which have often made my
eyes glisten. Oh ! it would be a charming party. Your
house is a little town. Really, to reflect upon our situations
and dispositions, it might be supposed some magic change had
been wrought upon us. And yet, to the honor of both, you
fill your exalted station admirably, and shine as in your proper
sphere ; while I and my humble fortune seem fitted for the
woods, and the solitude I inhabit. The truth is, I am as-
sured from whence all this comes ; it is necessary to raise our
reyes to Heaven, after having long kept them fixed upon the earth.
The other evening one of my people told me, " that it was
very warm in the mall ; that there was not a breath of air
stirring, and that the moon shone with the finest effect
imaginable." I could not resist the temptation, so on I put
bonnets, cloaks, capuchins, and all the needless defenses you
could wish ; and forth I sallied to the mall, where the air
was as mild as in my own room. I found there a thousand
fantastic illusions of the night, black and white friars, linen
scattered here and there, black men in one place, others buried
upright against trees, little dwarfs who just showed their heads
and concealed the rest of their bodies, priests who dared not
approach me, etc., etc. After having laughed heartily at all
these figures, and fully convinced ourselves of the true origin
of what are called spirits, apparitions, that play their farces in
the theater of our imaginations, we returned to the house
without sitting down, or feeling the lest dew. I beg your par-
don, my dear child, but I thought myself obliged, after the
example of the ancients, as the foolish fellow we met in the
gardens at Livri used to say, to show this mark of respect to
the moon ; I assure you I have sustained no injury from it. {
There has fallen to me, out of the clouds, one of the pret-
tiest calambour* chaplets in the world ; this is doubtless be-
cause I tell my beads so well. The best ball to the best

* Calembour, calamlouc, or calambac. are knots of the aloe-tree round

MADAME DE GRIGNiN, 231

player, you know. This chaplet has a cross of diamonds
hanging to it, with a death's head of coral ; I have certainly
seen that vile face somewhere. Tell me, I beseech you, how it
found its way to me at such a distance ? In the mean time, I
shall not tell my beads without considerable musings ; I am
of opinion that it will occasion greater distractions. I wait
your answer on this subject.

Have you heard the story of Madame de Saint-Pouanges ?
They concealed it a long time from me, lest it should prevent
me from returning to Paris in a carriage. This lady was
going to Fontainebleau, for we should let no advantage slip,
where she pretended she should be highly entertained ; she
had a very pretty place at court, was young, and had a taste
for all the pleasures suitable to her years ; she adopted the
fashionable mode of setting out at six o'clock in the evening,
and driving post, so as to get in about midnight. But, listen
to the consequences : her carriage was overturned by the way,
a piece of broken glass pierced through her stays into her
body, and she died of the wound. They write me word from
Paris that she lost her reason, between the pain the surgeons
gave her and the mortification of dying in the bloom of youth.
Is not this a curious adventure ? If you know it already, it
will be ridiculous to tell it you a second time ; but it has
made a strange impression on my brain. It seems Madame
de Nevers* has made one, on the greatest head in the world,
and has turned another smaller one quite topsy-turvy ; but I
do not find that this has been attended with any serious con-
sequences.

which the resin collects and hardens by incorporation. This calembouc
neld to the fire emits a fine perfume. The aloe-tree grows in the woods
of Coch in-China.

* Madame de Nevers, the daughter of Madame de Thianges, was a
perfect beauty. The greatest head is the king ; but it was not true that
he had designs upon her, as it was said she had upon him. The . ther
smaller head was the duke, the son of the great Conde, who was really
very much in love with her.

232 LETTERS TO

The king took the sacrament on Whitsunday. Madame de
Fontange's influence still continues brilliant and solid ; but
what are we to think of this friendship ? I have received a
letter from M. Pomponne, in the midst of his retirement, of
which I am more proud than if it had been from amid all the
splendor of St. Germain. It is there he is again become as
perfect as at Frene. Ah ! how excellent a use does he make
of hi3 disgrace, and what charming company he is in 1

LETTER LXXXVH.

The Rocks, Saturday, June 15, 1680.

I shall make no answer to what you say of my letters. I
am extremely happy that they please you ; had you not told
me so I should have thought them unbearable. I never can
muster up courage enough to read one of them through, and
I often say to myself, Good heavens ! with what nonsense do I
pester my poor child ! Sometimes I even repent having writ-
ten so much, lest I should lay you under a sort of obligation
to answer me in the same way ; but let me entreat you, my
child, to indulge me in the pleasure of chatting to you with-
out putting yourself to the trouble of answering. Your last
letter exceeded all the bounds of prudence and the care you
ought to take of your health.

You are too good in wishing me more society ; but, in fact,
I do not want it. I am accustomed to solitude. I have my
workmen to amuse me, and the good abbe has his likewise.
His taste for buildings and alterations gets the better of his
prudence. It does not cost him much, indeed, but it would
cost him still less to let it alone.

All my delight is in my wood : it is impossible to describe
how beautiful it is. I often walk there with my cane and
Louison, which is all I desire. In my closet I find such agree-
able company that I often say to myself, This is worthy my

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 233

daughter ; she could not here lay her hand amiss upon a book,
there is hardly room left for choice. I have taken up Les Con-
versations Chretiennes (Christian Dialogues). They are written
by an honest Cartesian, who seems to have all your Recherche
de la Verite (Inquiry after Truth, by heart) ; which treats of
that philosophy, and of the supreme power of God over his
creatures, who, as St. Paul says, " live, move, and have their
being," in Him alone, and by him know all things. I will let
you know if this book is within my comprehension, if not, I
shall quit it it with all humility, renouncing the foolish vanity
of appearing wise when I am not so. I assure you I think
like our brothers ; and were I to express myself in print, I
should say so. I know the difference between the language
of policy and that of the heart. God is omnipotent, and does
what he pleases ; that I understand. He wants our hearts,
and we will not give them to him ; there lies the mystery.
But do not discover that of our sisters of Saint-Marie : they
write me word that they are charmed with the book I lent
them.*

You remind me of the foolish answer I made to excuse my-
self from going to Madame de Bret***,f u that I had but one
son." This made your bishops start. I thought that it had
been merely my heretical air, I mentioned it to you the other
day. I think, however, there appeared something strange in
the expression. Heaven be praised, my dear countess, we have
done no harm ; your brothers could not be better provided foi
than at present, even had we been Mollnists. Probable opin-
ions, and the direction of purposes, would not have been more
advantageous to them in the Hotel de Carnava^et than the
libertinism of our conversations. I am delighted at it, and
have often thought how unjustly we might have suffered on
this occasion.

* See Letter, May 25.

f Apparently, Madame de Bretonvilliers, whom the Memoirs of the
times represent as the over-officious friend of the Archbishop ot Paris
De Harlai, who was not so timid a priest as he was a rigid Molinist.

234 LETTERS TO

I can make nothing of the affair of M. de la Trousse or
Madame d'Epinoi, or of the servant who robbed them. I will
endeavor to get information on this subject, and will send you
the letters. You find that poor Madame de Lavardin is quite
unhappy. Who would have supposed that she would have
been otherwise than rejoiced at her son's being married?*
But I speak like a fool. It should be our invariable maxim,
that human nature can never be happy. Young Chiverni
seems to be as much so as any one : you see how he has ex-
tricated himself from his misery. Your poor brother, indeed,
seems fated never to be happy in this world ; as to the other
world, if we may judge by appearances, I see no probability
of his being in the right road. The Bishop of Chalons is
certainly in heaven, for he was a devout prelate and a virtuous
man. You see all our friends are lost to us one after another.

I wrote the other day to Madame de Vins that I would
leave her to guess what sort of virtue I practiced most here ;
and informed her it was liberality. It is certain that I have
given away very considerable sums since my arrival ; eight
hundred francs one morning, one thousand another, five hun-
dred another, one day three hundred crowns ; you may think
I am jesting, but it is too true. I have farmers and millers
who owe me these sums, and have not a farthing to pay me
with. "What is to be done in this case % Why I make a virtue
of necessity, and forgive them the debts. You will readily
believe that I make no great merit of this since it is forced
liberality ; but my head was full of it when I wrote to Madame
de Vins, and so down it went on the paper. I endeavor to
make the fines pay for it. I have not yet touched one of the
six thousand francs from Nantes ; money-matters are not soon
settled. The other day I had a visit from a pretty little wife
of a farmer of Bodegat, with sparkling eyes, fine person, and
smartly dressed in a holland gown, with ruffled cuffs, and a
long train. Good heavens ! thought I, when I saw her, I am
ruined ; for you must know, her husband owes me eight thou*

* See the preceding Letter.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 235

sand francs. M. de Grignan would certainly have fallen in
love with this woman ; she is the very image of one he ad-
mired at Paris. This morning a countryman came in with
bags on all sides, some under his arms, some in his pockets,
and some in his breeches, which he began to untie, for in this
country they dress in a strange way ; the fashion of buttoning
the lower part of the jacket is not yet introduced here ; they
are very saving of the stuff of which their breeches are com-
posed, and from the gentry of Vitre down to my clodpole,
every thing is in the highest state of negligence. The good
abbe, who, you know, loves the main chance, seeing the fellow
so loaded, thought we were rich forever. " Upon my word,
friend, you are bravely loaded, how much money do you bring
us ?" " Please your reverence," answered the man, " I think
there is a matter of thirty francs." My dear child, I believe
all the doubles* in France were collected to fill these bags. In
this manner do they abuse our patience and forbearance.

You give me great pleasure by what you say of Montgo-
bert. I thought, indeed, what I wrote to you upon her ac-
count was superfluous, and that your excellent understanding
would reconcile every thing. In this manner, my child, you
ought always to act, in spite of momentary vexations. Mont-
gobert has an excellent heart, though her temper is rather too
hasty and impetuous ; I always honor the goodness of her
heart. We are frequently obliged to bear with the little de-
pendencies and circumstances of friendship, though they may
sometimes be disagreeable. I shall some day send her a bad
cause to defend at Rochecourbiere ; since she has a talent for
these things, it ought to be exercised. You will have M. de
Coulanges with you ; who will be a capital performer. He
will inform you of his views and expectations, I know nothing
of them myself; he dreads solitude so much that he will not
even write to any one who lives in it. Grignan, therefore, is a
place perfectly qualified to charm him, as he himself is to

* Small pieces of money, of which about five are equal to an English
penny.

236 LETTERS TO

charm others ; I never met with such delightful society, it is
the object of all my wishes ; I think of you all incessantly ; I
read your letters over and over again, saying as at Livri : Let
us see what my daughter said to me a week or tien days ago ;
for, in short, it is she who converses with me, and I thus enjoy
" the ingenious art of painting language, and of talking to the
eyes."

You know it is not the retired groves at the Rocks that
make me think of you ; I thought of you as much in the midst
of the bustle of Paris. You are fixed in the center of my
heart ; every thing else is transient ; it passes and is forgotten.
I have forgotten even my Agnes, and yet she is very amiable ;
her wit has something of the simplicity of the country in it ;
but that of Madame de Tarente is still in the high courtly
taste. The roads from hence to Vitre are grown so intolera
bly bad, that the king and M. de Chaulnes have ordered them
to be repaired. All the peasants of that barony will be assem-
bled there on Monday next.

Adieu, my dearest ! when I tell you that my affection is of
no use to you, do you not understand in what way I mean,
and to what my heart and imagination tend ? Pray tell me
if you intend to place our little girl at Aix with her aunt,* and
to send Paulina away. The dear child is a perfect prodigy ;
her understanding and wit are a sufficient portion for her ;
will you then place her on a level with a common person ? I
should always take her with me wherever I went, and should
never think of sending her to Aix with her sister.f In short,
I should treat her, as she merits, extraordinarily.

* Marie Adhemar de Monteil, sister of M. de G-rignan, and one of
the nuns of Aubenas, a town and convent of the Lower Vivares. See
the letter of 9th of June.

\ Marie Blanche, the eldest sister of Paulina, was in the nunnery of
St. Marie of Aix, where a short time afterward she took the vaiL

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 237

LETTER LXXXVIE.

The Rocks, Sunday, Sept. 15, 1680.

What infinite obligations does my heart owe you, and how
happy have you made it, by permitting me to hope for your
presence this winter ! I have read over and over again the
delightful letter I so fondly and impatiently expected. I said
to myself, " Yes, this is the voice of my child, who assures
me she shall come to Paris soon after All-Saints." Oh, how
great the joy to have such comfortable assurance in my pos
session !

You surprise me at the profound secrecy that our lovely
saint observes of her noble and pious intentions to Madame
du Janet. It is so natural to talk of what we ardently wish,
of what the heart is full of, that it is doing penance before-
hand to keep silence on such occasions ; but such is her dispo-
sition ; she speaks on this subject only to her holy father alone,
as it is he alone who is to determine the duration of a resi-
dence which she would be sorry to have protracted. By de-
priving herself of the pleasure of communicating her inten-
tions, she finds them more strongly confirmed in her breast.

I can not at this distance discover what is become of the
crowd that so lately swarmed in your castle. I left you, I
thought, in the midst of a fair ; but since I now find you re-
posing on your little bed, you must certainly have found means
to escape from the throng. Montgobert has not written to
me, and you mention your health very slightly ; you ought to
have informed me whether the medicines you are taking have
the desired effect, and whether this thinness upon thinness is
likely to reduce you to your former state. It is a sad misfor-
tune that what does you service in one way, should injure you
in another ; it throws a damp upon the satisfaction we should
otherwise feel. %

We are at present among a set of persons with whom we
make great use of both our reason and reasoning. You know,

238 LETTERS TO

my child, what a good hearer I am, thanks to God and you,
as they say in this country ; I have lost, by dint of listening
to you, the gross ignorance I possessed on many subjects ;
this is a pleasure I now feel the advantage of. We have had
here a party or two at ombre and reversis, and the next day
altra scena (a change of scene). M. de Montmoron came,
you know he has a great deal of wit ; Father Damaie, who
does not live quite a hundred miles from this place ; my son,
who you know is perfect master of disputation, and Corbi-
nelli's letters, making four, and I am audience for them ; they
entertain me exceedingly. M. de Montmoron perfectly under-
stands your philosophy, and controverts it stoutly. My son
maintains the cause of your father ; as also Damaie ; and
Corbinelli, in his letters, takes the same side ; but they are not
all more than a match for Montmoron. He insists that we
can have no ideas but what are imparted through the medium
of the senses. My son contends that we think independently
of our senses ; for instance, we think that we think :* this is
in general the subject of our disputations, which have been
carried on with great spirit, and have delighted me extremely.
Could you, my child, have made a party in this conversation,
by your letter, as Corbinelli has done, you would have
strengthened a little our Sevigne. And now I mention him,
I must acquaint you that he is still very far from being well,
though he thinks himself out of danger, as indeed I do also ;

* "We are agreeably surprised to see at this era, in the heart of Brit-
tany, a gentleman who so ably refuted the system of innate ideas, and
already exhibiting the theory of Locke. For though the English philos-
opher was in Paris in 1675, I do not think his opinions were ever
promulgated there, or that they were even at that time published. But
Hobbes, and particulary Gassendi, had raised objections to the medita-
tions of Descartes, of which the principles had sprung up in able heads.

But what deceives Madame de Sevigne here, is the word to think, ill
understood, and applied to many secondary operations of the under-
standing. Its too general signification disguises its origin. Descartes
himself was mistaken by not submitting this word sufficiently to the
analysis which he himself invented.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 239

but he is tired of doctors as well as you ; he has taken more
medicines than were necessary ; they have acted upon his
blood, and heated it to such a degree that every day some of
those horrible eruptions -appear which are so very disagreeable
both to those who suffer and those who see them ; tlm- he
poor fellow is happy to have a little respite, that he m:y e-
pose himself.

Yesterday I observed, with admiration, how very easy it is
to console ourselves for the want of play by a better avoca-
tion ; and how patient we are while we are squandering our
money in farthings, as I said the other day at Rennes. But
without imitating you, for I hate a bad copy of a good origi-
nal, I shall tell you that my age and experience make me
wish not to have always such demands upon me, and that 1
could now and then put a little wit into my poor head ; indeed
it is what I am every day endeavoring to do when in my
closet or my wood. You will not perhaps be displeased to
know the person who has engaged us in play of late. It is a
tolerably pretty woman from Vitre, who has been here three
nights, and during her stay we have hardly had the cards out
of our hands, she is so passionately fond of them. How much
better does Mademoiselle de Grignan spend her time, happy
creature ! In reading your letters over more carefully, I find
she speaks without reserve of her intentions to Madame du
Janet, and that is the only conversation she had with M. de
Grignan that she conceals from her ; but still I can not help
wondering that she should mention the one without the other.
It must be no small satisfaction to her to have the conversa-
tion of so prudent and good a person. I reverence moie
than ever the wise dispensations of Providence when I reflect
how it turns the steps you are about to take to my advan-
tage ; and I already begin to enjoy, in imagination, the pleas-
ure I am to receive.

I ask a thousand pardons : I have met with a little book of
madrigals,* containing the prettiest things in the world. I

* By La Sabliere.

240 LETTERS TO

must endeavor to bring them into favor with you this winter.
It is a pleasure to have a bad memory ; we are reading Sara-
sin again, and I am as much delighted with him as at first ;
this is the case also with Les Petites Lettres ; we find some-
thing new in these, and we add others according to our fancy :
your brother has an excellent knack at furnishing these
amusements. I had a mind to dip again into the Prejudices,*
I think them admirable : but what crowns the whole, my dear-
est child, is, that these things all lead directly to you. Oh,
how sweet the consolation, to think that we shall meet once
more ! Alas, a whole year has passed in continual adieus ;
mortifying occupation ! I can not look upon the past with so
much tranquillity as you do. It is to me a source of the bit-
terest uneasiness, at least it has been so till I read the pleasing
assurance of your return ; now I forgive it in consideration of
the future, which offers itself to my imagination fraught with
hopes that make amends for all.

LETTER LXXXIX.

The Rocks, Sunday, Sept. 22, 1680.
You are so much of a philosopher, my beloved child, that
there is no such thing as giving vent to the transports of the
heart with you. You are continually anticipating hopes ; and
you pass over the joy of possession, to contemplate the hour
of separation. Believe me, we ought to manage differently
the blessings which Providence has in store for us. After
having made you this reproach, it remains with me honestly
to confess that I deserve it as much as you do, and that it is
impossible for any one to be more alarmed at the cruel rapidity
of time, or to have a stronger foretaste of those sorrows which
generally follow in the train of pleasures. In short, my child,
this life is a perpetual checker- work of good and evil, pleasure

* A work of M. Nicole's, entitled, Prejuges legitimes contre les Cak
vinistes (Well-founded Prejudices against the Calvinists).

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 241

and pain. When in possession of what we desire, we are only
so much the nearer losing it ; and when at a distance from it,
we live in the expectation of enjoying it again. It is our busi-
ness, therefore, to take things as God is pleased to send them.
For my part, I am resolved to indulge myself in the delightful
hope of seeing you, without any mixture of alloy.

You are very unjust, my love, in the judgment you pass
upon yourself; you say, that though people at first think you
agreeable, upon a longer acquaintance they cease to love you ;
it is precisely the reverse ; you have a certain air of superiority
that makes people afraid of you, and despair of ever being ad-
mitted into the number of your friends ; but when once they
know you, it is impossible not to be attached to you ; and if
any of your acquaintance seem to shun you, it is only because
they love you, and can not bear the thought of not being so
much loved in return as they wish. I have heard many per-
sons extol the charms of your friendship to the skies, and af-
terward reflect on their own want of merit, which prevented
them from preserving that happiness ; thus each blames him-
self for a degree of coldness ; but where there is no real cause
of complaint on either side, it seems only to require a little
leisurely conversation to be good friends again.

I have a great desire to read Terence ; nothing could give
me greater pleasure than to see the originals, of which the
copies have afforded me so much pleasure. My son will trans-
late to me satire against foolish amours ;* he ought to be able
to write one himself, or at least to profit by this ; if the situation
he is in at present does not correct him, I know not what will.
We read books of controversy ; one has lately been publishedf
in answer to the Prejudices, to which I wish M. Arnauld had

* She, no doubt, alludes here to the well-known description of the
extravagance of lovers, which is to be found in Terence's Eunuch,
Scene I. beginning in these words :

In amore hsec omnia insunt vitia, etc.

f Written by the Protestant minister Claude, entitled, " A Defense
of the Reformation against the ' Well-founded Prejudices' of M. Nicole."

11

242 LETTERS TO

replied ; but I fancy that he has been forbidden ; and it is
thought more advisable to leave this book unanswered, though
it may do injury to religion, than to permit the publication of
another that may serve to justify the Jansenists from the errors
with which they have been reproached ; but more of this
another time. I have been promised the coadjutor's speech,
but I have not yet had it ; my son and several others speak
highly in its praise.

LETTER XO.

The Rocks, Wednesday, November 26, 1684.

So much the worse for you, my dear child ; if you do not
read over your letters, your indolence robs you of a great pleas-
ure, which is not one of the least of the evils it may occasion
you ; for my part, I read them over and over again ; they con-
stitute all my joy, all my sorrow, all my occupation, so that
you are the center and cause of all. I shall begin this letter
with you.

Is it possible that what you tell me can be true, that when
you spoke to the king you were like a person beside yourself,
and so lost, to use your own expression, in the blaze of maj-
esty, that you knew not what you said, nor could recollect
any of your ideas. Never, never can I believe that my beloved
daughter, always so remarkable for her ready wit and happy
presence of mind, should have been in such a situation. I
must confess, that from what his majesty said to you — " that
he would do something for M. de Grignan" — I by no means
understand that he merely alluded to the great expense M. de
Grignan had lately incurred : no, the king's answer appeared
to me to bear this construction, " Madam, the favor you ask
of me is a trifle, I will do something more for Grignan ;"
meaning, I suppose, the affair of the survivorship, which he
knew would be a capital point for your family. I had no idea
of the little present in question, and you know what I said

MADAME DE GRIOJNAN. 243

upon that subject in my last letter. It rests with you, my
dear, to set me right, and I beg you will do so, for I do not
lovre to view things in a wrong light.

Madame de la Fayette has written me word that you were
an angel of beauty at court, that you spoke to the king, and
that it was thought you were soliciting a pension for your
husband. I returned a slight answer, " that I believed it was
to entreat his majesty to consider the great expenses M. de
Grignan had been obliged to incur in Provence," and that was
all.

You relate inimitably the story of M. de Villequier and his
mother-in-law. There seems no danger of her proving a Phae-
dra to him. Had you read that part of your letter over, you
would easily have conceived the manner in which it struck
me. It is not unlike the story of Joconde ; and the chamber-
maid yawning with fatigue at her Jong waiting is admirable.
I think Madame d'Aumont's conduct very praiseworthy : it
ought to silence the world, and satisfy her husband. What
great doings in Savoy ! I can not believe the king will with-
hold his pity and assistance from the young Princess of Baden,
when she represents to him the situation of her mother, aban-
doned by all her children. I do not believe she will set out
till her mother is gone. This good mother, it is true, has so
much fire about her, that it is difficult to persuade one's self
she is not still in the prime of her youth. The Princess de
Tarente intends to receive her at Vitre. As for Madame de
Marbeuf, she is one of her old acquaintance ; they have spent
whole winters together in supping and playing at the Palace
of Soissons ; you may judge how readily this will be renewed
at Rennes. I have told my son the story of the Chevalier de
Soisson's engagement : we could neither of us have believed
the eyes of a grandmother retained still so much power. I do
not think the raising of the siege of Buda* worth mentioning

* After having beaten the Turks, and repulsed the troops they were
leading to the assistance of Buda, the Duke of Lorraine was at length
obliged to raise the siege, which had lasted for nearly four months.

244 LETTERS TO

to you ; it is a piece of news hardly of sufficient consequence
to obtain a place in my letter. I fancy the dauphiness,* how-
ever, will take the pains to be sorry : her brother has exposed
himself so much, and acquitted himself so well in this expedi-
tion, that it is a pity such an elector should be obliged to re-
turn from it.

Our worthy is very ill with one of those bad colds and
coughs which you have seen him afflicted with. He is in his
little closet. We take better care of him here than could be
done at Paris. My daughter-in-law has gone through all the
hot and cold regimen of the Capuchins, without being affected
either one way or the other by them. When the weather is
fine, as it has been for the last three days, I venture out about
two o'clock, and walk backward and forward before the gard-
eners, who are cutting wood, and representing the picture of
winter, but without stopping to contemplate the scene ; and
after I have enjoyed all the heat of the sun, I return to the
house, leaving the evening to those of a more hardy constitu-
tion. In this way do I govern myself to please you, and very
often I do not stir out of the house at all. Coulanges' chair,
a few books that my son reads admirably, and now and then a
little conversation, will compose the whole of my occupation
during the winter, and the subject of your anxiety ; for I shall
exactly follow your orders in all points, and every where.

My son understands perfectly well what Wednesday means.f
To say the truth, we would be very dull without him, and he
without us ; but he manages matters so well that there is gen-
erally a party of ombre in my apartments, and at intervals we
read, and make comments on what we read ; you know what
sort of place the Rocks is. We have read a folio volume
through in little more than a week. We have been engaged

* The dauphiness was always a German in her heart ; this partiality,
which the subsequent war increased and rendered more offensive, con-
tributed, with other eccentricities of character, to alienate the affection!
of her husband, the king, and the whole court.

f This was one of Madame de Sevigne's post-days.

MADAME DE ORIGNAN. 245

with M. Nicole, the Lives of the Fathers of the Desert, and
the History of the Reformation in England ; in short, those
who are happy enough to have a taste for rea<
be at a loss for amusement.

LETTER XCL

The Rocks, Sunday, February 2?J~1685.

Ah, my child ! was ever any thing so ill-timed as the death
of the King of England,* just at the eve of a masquerade ?
My poor little marquis f is very unfortunate to have such an
unexpected event thrown in the way of his pleasure. I know
nothing that can comfort him for this disappointment but the
universal encomiums that have been given to his charming
dress, and the hope that the masquerade is only put off for a
time.

My dear child, I make you my compliments of condolence
on these great occurrences, and expect yours in return upon
my mistaken ideas ; for I was at the masquerade, the opera,
and the ball, snug in a corner, contemplating you with admi-
ration ; in short, I was in as great an agitation as you may
suppose your poor mother to experience on such an occasion ;
and, after all, there was no entertainment of any kind.

I enter into your sentiments, my beautiful dear, better than
any one. Yes, yes, I can very well conceive that we are
transfused into our children, and, as you say, feel more keenly
for them than for ourselves. I have sufficiently experienced
these emotions, which are not without their pleasure when the
object is deserving of them and of the admiration of every
one besides. Your son pleases extremely ; there is something
inexpressibly smart and agreeable in his countenance ; the eye
does not pass lightly over him as over others in general, but

* Charles II., who died 16th February, 1685.
f Louis-Provence, Marquis de Grignan, Madame de Sevigne's grand?
son.

246 LETTERS TO

rests attentively. Madame de la Fayette tells me she has
written to Madame de Montespan that she had engaged her
honor that you and your son would have reason to be satisfied
with her. I know no one who would be more happy to serve
you than Madame de la Fayette.

But is it not extraordinary that we have not yet had a word
together on the death of the King of England ? He was by
no means an old man, and he was a monarch ; this shows that
death spares no one. It will be a great happiness if he was a
Catholic in his heart, and died in the faith of our holy reli-
gion. England appears to me a theater that is about to fur-
nish some very extraordinary scenes : the Prince of Orange,
the Duke of Monmouth, an infinite number of Lutherans, and a
confirmed aversion to all Catholics ; but time will discover in
what way Providence will direct the performance, after this
tragical event ;* however, it seems it will not put a stop to
the diversion at Versailles, since I find you are to return there

* Charles IT. was sixty-five years of age, and had reigned about
twenty-five years, reckoning from the restoration of the Stuarts. He
received the sacraments agreeably to the rites of the Church of Rome,
but more, it is said, in compliance with the entreaties of his brother
than the dictates of his conscience. He had some good private quali-
ties. But, as a prince, his character, says the impartial Hume, was
" dangerous to his subjects, and dishonorable to himself." To rid him-
self of his parliament, he had placed himself in a state of disgraceful
independence on Louis XIV. It has been said of him that he never
said a foolish thing, and never did a wise one. Judging by the follow-
ing anecdote, he carried further even than policy required, the practice
of dissimulation, which would be, as it is declared, the necessary vir-
tue of kings, if it be true that weakness and indolence are their natural
vices. It is said that Charles II. having reproached his minister
Shaftesbury with being " the greatest knave in the three kingdoms,"
he replied, "Apparently your majesty only includes subjects."

Madame de Sevigne speaks of the state of England in the character
of a well-informed person. The rebellion of Monmouth and his tragi-
cal end in the same year, and James II. dethroned and driven out of
the kingdom three years afterward by his son-in-law, justified but too
well her predictions.

MADAME DE GEIGNAN. 247

on Monday. You say a thousand kind things of the concern
it would give you to leave me behind at Paris, if I were there ,
but as this, to my great regret, is not the case, make the most
of this opportunity, follow the court : no one is formed to
make a better figure there, and I think every thing seems to
tend toward the completion of your wishes. Mine, though
made at such a distance, are not less ardent and sincere than
if I were with you. I feel, though less delicately, the truth
of a remark you made to me one day, and which I then
laughed at : that you were so much mistress of my imagina-
tion and my heart that I had you always present with me ;
this is very true, my child, but I must own I had rather enjoy
a little more of reality.

LETTER XCn.

The Rocks, Wednesday, Aug. 11, 1685.

You see, my dear, that we are now come to reckon by
days only, not by months ! not even by weeks ! But, alas !
what you say is very true : there could not be a more cruel
damp to our pleasures than the thought that we might be
obliged to part again almost as soon as we met ; this is a pain-
ful idea ; it occurs to me but too often ; day or night I am not
free from it ; it came in my head the last time I was writing to
you, and I could not forbear saying to myself, Surely this evil
ought to be sufficient to secure me from the danger of expe-
riencing a greater ; but I dare not dwell upon this melancholy
reflection, and shall now divert it by the thought that I am
soon to see you at Baville. I shall not be at all ashamed of
my equipage ; my children have very elegant ones, and I have
had the same ; but now the times are altered ; I have only
two horses of my own, and shall hire four horses from the
postmaster of Mans ; and in that manner I shall make my
entrance into Paris without the least concern. You will find
my leg in a state of perfection, which will make you love

248 LETTERS TO

Charlotte all your life ; she has fancied you from hence more
beautiful than the day, and this idea has given her an extreme
desire to restore this leg to you, worthy of your admiration,
when you know from what a situation it has been extricated.
All this is past, and so is the visit of little Coulanges ; he set
out on Monday morning with your brother. I accompanied
them as far as the gate that leads to Vitre ; there we stopped
to await the arrival of your letters from Paris, which came as
expected, and were read with the usual pleasure. As you only
mentioned that M. d'Ormesson's wife was at the point of
death, I have not dared to write to him ; but as soon as you
let me know she is buried, I will venture to send him a line or
two by way of condolence and comfort ; but indeed, consider-
ing the state she was in, what could be more desirable for her-
self and her family than her death ? Ah, my dear child, how
humiliating it is to be obliged to drag about the lees of life
and understanding ! how much preferable would it be, could
we have our wish, to leave behind us a remembrance worthy
of being preserved, rather than spoil and disfigure it by the in-
firmities and weakness of old age ! I should like to be an
inhabitant of that country where they kill their parents out
of kindness, when they become old and helpless, if such a
practice could be reconciled to Christianity.

Our gentlemen sung Guadeamus on Monday evening at
Marbeufs. Your brother is not quite recovered of his slight
disorder. I have had some delightful conversations with Cou-
langes on the subject he is so much at a loss to comprehend :
scenes have passed between us not inferior to some of Moliere's.
When do you expect Saint Grignan f

KB. Ko more letters are found from Madame de Sevigne to her
daughter till toward the end of 1688, both having passed the interme-
diate time together at Paris.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 249

LETTER XCIII.

Paris, Friday, October 8, 1688.

What a tremendous rain, just, my child, as you are going
to descend that frightful mountain of Rochepot ! How num-
berless are the vexations of those who love with any degree of
fervor ! We know not how to love heroically, notwithstand-
ing the example of heroism below :* but there is no knowing
you without being attached to you with the greatest tender-
ness. Our poor hero is still dreadfully afflicted with the gout ;
it is a perfect martyrdom. There are several persons of wit
and learning, as St. Romain,f the Abbe Bigorre, Crosailles,J
who visit him with a view to divert his painful moments with
the news of the day, and other topics; but still he suffers
greatly.

Our young marquis could not have been at the opening of
the trenches, for M. de Vauban could not wait the arrival of
the dauphin on account of the rains ; we are still persuaded
that in a very few days your mind will be at ease.

The Prince of Orange has declared himself protector of the
religion of the Church of England, and has demanded the
young prince,§ that he may be brought up in that faith. This
is a great event : several of the English nobility have joined
him. You know that La Trousse has taken Avignon. || Mad-
ame de Coulanges, who overflows with money, has lent

* Meaning the Chevalier de Grignan, who had an apartment in the
Hotel de Carnavalet, Madame de Sevigne's house at Paris.

f St. Romain had been embassador in Switzerland.

% Brother of Marshal de Catinet, and a man of great merit. He had
been captain of the French guards, but had quitted the service on ac-
count of ill health.

§ James, Prince of Wales, son of James II., born the 20th June,
1688 ; but better known afterward by the name of the Pretender.

| Some disputes that had happened between the court of France and

that of Rome had obliged Louis XIV. to sieze upon the county of

Venaissin, belonging to the pope.

11*

250 LETTERS TO

Mademoiselle de Meri a thousand francs ; we expect that
lady here every day. M. de la Trousse (her brother) will very
readily repay the loan.

I am much pleased, my dear child, that you approve the
coming of the good Abbe de Bigorre ; his company will
prove no small amusement to me. We entertain ourselves
below stairs with frequent conversations upon the state of our
affairs ; I find there all the consolation that a sound under-
standing and a generous heart can afford me ; for the more
the chevalier is known the more he must be esteemed and
loved. I have no need to ask him if you love me ; for I am
convinced of it by a thousand instances : but without ques-
tioning him upon the subject, he gave me the most charming
proofs of it. We eat together, and keep a- very good table.
The philosophy of Corbinelli is to come to-night. We have
written in all our apartments, Fais ce que tu voudras ; vive la
sainte liberte/*

I have seen Madame de Fontenilles : she ha$ lately lost her
mother, and seems overwhelmed with grief. You will judge
what impression this made upon me. Her mother died in a
shocking way, crying out in all the agonies of despair, and
terrified with the thought of taking the last sacraments : she
received them, however, but with a gloomy and dreadful si-
lence. Her son and Alliot arrived just two hours after her
death.

LETTER XCIV.

Paris, Tuesday, October 26, 1688.
Oh ! what a letter, my child ! It well deserves that I should
come here on purpose to receive it, as I did. At length, then, you
are arrived safe at Grignan, and are in perfect health ; and such
is my fate that, though you are removed at the distance of hall
the globe from me, I must rejoice at it. Perhaps it may

* Do as you like : reign, sacred Liberty !

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 251

please Heaven that ere long I shall embrace you again : let
me live in that hope. You make a very pleasing portrait of
Paulina. I know her again ; she is not at all altered, as M. de
Grignan would have made us believe she was. She is a sweet
creature, and worthy of being loved. She adores you, and
her absolute submission to your will, even in the midst of her
joy at seeing you, if you decide that she should leave you
again, at once engages my pity and concern ; nor can I help
admiring the power she has over herself. Were I in your
place I should be loth to part with such an agreeable com-
panion, who will at once furnish you with amusement and oc-
cupation. I would make her work at her needle, and read
works of taste : I would argue with her, and sound the depth
of her capacity. I would talk to her with affection and con-
fidence ; for, believe me, you will never be tired of her society,
on the contrary, she may be of great use to you. In short, I
would make the most of her, and would not punish myself by
depriving myself of such a comfort.

I am very glad the chevalier speaks well of me ; my vanity
is concerned in preserving his good opinion. If he is fond of
my company, I, in return, can never have too much of his,
and I think it a proof of good taste to be desirous of cultivat-
ing his esteem. I know not how you can say that your hu-
mor is a cloud which hides or obscures the affections you have
for me. If such may have been the case formerly, you have
for many years past totally removed the vail, and you no
longer conceal from me any part of the most perfect and tender
affection that one person can entertain for another. Heaven
will reward you for it in your own children, who will love
you, not in the same way, as perhaps they may not be capable
of it, but at least to the utmost of their abilities, and we can
desire no more.

252 LETTERS TO

LETTER XCV.
Paris, All-Saints' day, 1688, nine o'clock at night.
Philipsburg is taken, and your son is well I I have only
tc turn this phrase in every possible way, for I will not change
my text. Learn then again from this note, that your son is
well, and that Philipsburg is taken/ A courier is just ar-
rived at M. de Villacerf's, who says that the dauphin's courier
reached Fontainebleau while Father Gaillard was preaching ;
and that the sermon was immediately interrupted, and thanks
returned to God for this brilliant achievement. No further
particulars are known, except that there was no assault, and
that M. du Plessis was right when he said the governor had
ordered wagons to carry away his equipage. Recover your
breath, then, my dear child, and let the first thing you do be
to return thanks to God. No other siege is talked of; rejoice
that your son has witnessed that of Philipsburg ; it is an ad-
mirable period for him ; it is the dauphin's first campaign.
Would you not have been grieved if he was the only person
of his age who was not present on the occasion, in which all
the rest glory? But let us not look back;" every thing has
happened as we could have wished. It is you, my dear count,
we may thank for it. I congratulate you on the joy you must
experience, and beg my compliments also to the coadjutor ;
you are all relieved from great anxiety. Sleep soundly, then,
my dearest, sleep soundly on the assurance we give you ; if
you are covetous of grief, as we formerly said, seek some other
occasion, for God has preserved your dear child to you. We
are in raptures, and in this feeling I embrace you with an af-
fection that I believe you can not doubt.

LETTER XCVI.

Paris. Monday, November 8, 1688
This is the day, my dear child, on which you are to begin
your journey ; we follow you step by step. The weather is

MADAME DE QRIGNAN. 253

delightful ; the durance will not be so terrific as it sometimes
is. It looks as if you were resolved to remove further and
further from us out of mere spite ; you will find yourself at
last on the sea-shore. But it is the will of God that we
should meet with periods in our life which are difficult to
bear ; and we must endeavor to repair, by a submission to his
will, the too great sensibility we feel toward earthly things.
Ju this respect it is impossible to be more culpable than I am.
The chevalier is much better. It is painful to reflect that
the weather which agrees with him is precisely what may
dethrone the King of England ; whereas he suffered dreadfully
a few days ago, when the wind and tempests were dispersing
the fleet of the Prince of Orange : he is unhappy at not being
able to make his health accord with the good of Europe ; for
the sentiment of joy is universal at the failure of the prince,
whose wife* is a perfect Tullia ; ah, how boldly would she
drive over the body of her father ! She has empowered her
husband to take possession of the kingdom of England, of
which she calls herself the heiress; and if her husband is
killed, for her imagination is not very delicate, M. de Schom-
bergf is to take possession of it for herself. What say you to
a hero, who so sadly disgraces the close of a glorious life ?
He saw the admiral's ship sink in which he was to have ein-

* Mary Stuart, daughter of James II., king of England, and wife of
"William Henry of Nassau, Prince of Orange, afterward king of Eng-
land by the name of William III. Tullia, the daughter of Servius Tul-
lius, king of Rome, caused her chariot to drive over the bleeding body
of her father, who had just been assassinated.

f Frederic Armand, Count de Schomberg, marshal of France, ob-
tained permission to retire from the king's service in 1 685, on account
of his having embraced the Protestant religion. He was minister of
state, and generalissimo of the armies of the Elector of Brandenbourg,
and went over to England in 1688 with the Prince of Orange.

Marshal de Schomberg had ancient leagues with the Princes of Orange.
He had, besides, much cause to complain of the court, and even of Tu-
renne, during the war with Holland. See a curious account of this
general in the Fragmens Historiques de Racine,

254 LETTERS TO

barked ; and as the prince and he were the last in following
the fleet, which was under weigh in the finest weather pos-
sible, they were obliged, by a tremendous storm that suddenly
arose, to return to port, the prince being very much indis-
posed with his asthma, and M. de Schomberg as much vexed.
Only twenty-six sail returned with them; the rest were all
dispersed, some toward Norway, others toward Boulogne.
M. d'Aumont has sent a courier to the king, to inform him that
vessels had been seen at the mercy of the winds, and that
there were many appearances of shipwreck. A vessel armed
enjlute, in which were nine hundred men, sunk in sight of
the prince of Orange. In short, the hand of God is visible
upon this fleet : many ships may return, but it will be long
before they will be able to do any mischief, for the dispersion
has certainly been great, and has happened at a time when it
was least expected : this is certainly a stroke of Providence.
I need not say so much to you of this great news, for the
papers are full of it ; but as we are so too, and as we can talk
of nothing else, it flows naturally from my pen.

Shall I give you another instance of wounds that were not
received at the siege of Philipsburg ? It relates to the Chev-
alier de Longueville : the town was taken ; the dauphin had
just inspected the garrison, the little chevalier mounted the
back of the trenches to look at something, when, a soldier,
aiming at a woodcock, shot this poor child, and he died in
consequence the next day : his death is as singular as his
birth*

LETTER XCVII.

Paris, Friday, December 3, 1688.
I have to inform you to-day that the king made yes-
terday seventy-four knights of the order of the Holy Ghost,

* Charles-Louis d'Orleans, natural son of Charles Paris d'Orleans,
Duke of Longueville, killed in crossing the Rhine in 1672.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 255

of which I send you the list. As he has done M. de Grignan
the honor to include him, and as you will receive a hundred
thousand congratulations upon the occasion, wiser heads than
mine advise you neither to say nor write any thing that may
give offense to any of your companions in this honor. The
best way, perhaps, would be to write to M. de Louvois, and
to say that the honor he had done you of inquiring after you
by your courier gives you the privilege of thanking him ; and
that wishing to believe, on the subject of the favor the king
has just granted to M. de Grignan, that he has contributed
toward it by his approbation at least, you return him thanks
also for this. You will give this a better turn than I can do ;
and it will do no injury to the letter M. de Grignan should
write. The particulars of what passed are these : The king
said to M. le Grand :* " The count de Soissonsf and you must
n agree among yourselves with respect to rank." You must
know, that M. le Grand's son is in the promotion, which is
contrary to the general rules. You must know, also, that the
king said to the dukes that he had read their memorial, and that
he found that the house of Lorraine had taken precedence of
them on several occasions ; and so it is decided.^ M. le
Grand then spoke to the Cotrnt de Soissons ; they proposed to
draw lots, " provided," said the count, " that if you win I
pass between you and your son."§ M. le Grand would not
consent to this, and so the Count de Soissons is not a chev-
alier. The king asked M. de la Tremouille how old he was ?
he replied that he was thirty-three ; the king excused him
two years. This favor, it is said, which has given some of-
fense to the principality, has not been estimated as it ought

* Louis de Lorraine, Count d'Armagnac, first equerry of France.

\ Louis Thomas de Savoy, Count de Soissons.

% It is related that the Duke of Luxembourg said aloud upon this
subject : " There is one thing I can not comprehend." " And what ia
that ?" said the king. " How a Bourbon can look upon a Guise."

§ Henry de Lorraine, Count de Brionne.

256 LETTERS TO

to have been. However, he is the first duke, according to
the precedence of his dukedom.*

LETTER XCVIII.

Paris, Monday, December 6, 1688.
Your last letter has an air of gayety and expansion of heart
which convinces me that Franckendal is taken, and that he is
safe, I mean the marquis. Enjoy this pleasure, my beloved
child ; your son sleeps to-night at Claie ; you see he will pass
through Livri, and to-morrow he will sup with us. The chev-
alier, who is indeed an excellent creature in all respects, is re-
turned from Versailles ; he has thanked the king, and it has
all passed off well. You will assume the blue ribbon on the
second of January in the midst of Provence, over which you
have the command, and where there are only you and M.
d' Aries your uncle. This distinction and remembrance of his
majesty, when you the least expected it, are highly gratifying ;
even the compliments you receive on all sides are not like
those which are paid to others ; it is to little purpose to say,
" Ah this ! ah that !" for my parij I say on this subject, as on
many others, " What is good, is good ;" you will lose nothing ;
and when we think of those who are in despair, we consider
ourselves very fortunate to be in the recollection of a master
who does not forget the services that are rendered him both
by ourselves and our children. I own to you I feel this joy
thoroughly, without appearing to do so. The chevalier has a
great desire to send word of it this evening to our marquis at
Claie, who will not be insensible to it. He wishes also to send
you your blue ribbon with two Saint Esprits, because the time
draws on : he believes you to have your grandfather'sf cross

* Messieurs de la Tremouille had the highest rauk at court, as being
the eldest dukes, and Messieurs d'Usez the highest rank in the parlia-
ment as being the eldest peers.

f Louis Castellane de Adhemar de Monteil, received knight of the

MADAME DE GRIGNAN, 257

at Grignan ; if you have not, you would be at a loss for one.
I own tbat if the chevalier had not forestalled me, I should
have made you this pretty little present ; but I give place to
him in every thing. The favor is complete by the permission
of not attending the installation. I am charged with a hun-
dred compliments; Madame de Lesdiguieres, Madame de
Mouci, Madame de Lavardin, M. de Harlai, and I know not
how many others I could name ; for they are in long lists, as
when you gained your lawsuit. Think not, my dear child,
that you have been out of luck for the last three months ; I
begin with your gaining your cause ; then the preservation of
your son ; his early reputation ; his contusion ; the beauty of
his company, to which you contributed ; and I conclude with
the business of Avignon and the blue ribbon : think well o^
this, and be thankful to God.

LETTER XCIX.

Paris, Friday, December 10, 1688.
I can not answer your letters to-day, as they came so late,
and I answer two on a Monday. The marquis* is a little rus-
tic, but not enough so to render him ridiculous ; he will not
have so fine a figure as his father, nor is it to be expected ; in
other respects he does very well, answering pertinently to every
thing that is asked him, like a man of good sense, who has
made observations and sought information during his cam-
paign ; his conversation is tinctured with modesty and recti-
tude that charm us. M. du Plessis is worthy of the esteem
you bear him. We take our meals together very socially,
amusing ourselves with the unjust proceedings we sometimes
adopt against one another; make yourself easy upon this
score, and think no more about it ; let it be my part to blush

king's orders in 1584, lieutenant-general of the government of Prov
ence, was M. de Grignan's great-grandfather.
* The son of Madame de Grignan.

258 LETTERS TO

at thinking that a wren is a heavy burden to me : I own I am
grieved at it, but we must submit to the great justice of pay-
ing our debts : no one understands this better than yourself ;
you have also kindness enough for me to believe that I am not
naturally avaricious, and that I have no intention to hoard.
When you are here, good madam, you tutor your son so well,
that I am compelled to admire you ; but, in your absence, I
undertake to teach him the common rules of conversation,
which it is important to know; there are some things of
which we ought not to be ignorant. It would be ridiculous to
appear astonished at certain events which are the topics of the
day ; I am sufficiently acquainted with these trifles. I also
strongly recommend to him attention to what others say, and
the presence of mind by which we quickly comprehend and
answer ; this is a principal object in our intercourse with the
world. I repeat to him instances of miracles of this kind
which Dangeau related to us the other day; he admires
them, and I lay great stress upon the charms, and even utility,
of this sort of alertness of mind. In short, I obtain the chev-
alier's approbation : we converse together on books, and the
misfortune of being troubled with listlessness and want of em-
ployment : we call this laziness of the mind, which deprives
us of a taste for good books and even romances ; as this is an
interesting subject, we frequently enter upon it. Little Au-
vergne* is very fond of reading ; he was never happy, when
with the army, unless he had a book in his hand. God knows
whether M. du Plessis and we can turn this fine and noble
passion to account ; we are willing to believe the marquis sus-
ceptible of the best impressions ; we suffer no opportunity to
pass unimproved that can tend to inspire him with so desirable
a taste. The chevalier is of more use to this dear boy than
can easily be imagined; he is continually striking the full
chords of honor and reputation, and takes an interest in his

* Francis-Egon de la Tour, Prince of Auvergne, who quitted the
French army in 1702, in which he served in Germany, to enter into
the service of the emperor.

MADAME DE GRIGSAN. ^59

affairs, for which you can not sufficiently thank him : he enters
into every thing, attends to every thing, and wishes the mar-
quis to regulate his own accounts and incur no unnecessary
expenses ; by this means, he endeavors to give him a habit of
regularity and economy, and to make him lay aside the air of
grandeur, of " what does it signify," of ignorance, and indiffer-
ence, which is the direct path to every kind of injustice, and,
at length, to the workhouse : can there be any obligation
equal to that of training up your son in these principles ? For
my part, I am charmed with it, and think this sort of educa-
tion far more noble than any other. The chevalier is a little
afflicted with the gout : he will go to-morrow, if he can, to
Versailles, and will inform you of the situation of his affairs.
You already know that you are a knight of the order, which
is a very desirable thing in the center of your province, and
in actual service, and will admirably become M. de Grignan's
fine figure : there will, however, be no one to dispute it with
him in Provence, for he will not be envied by his uncle,* as
this title does not go out of the family.

La Fayette is just going from hence ; he has been holding
forth a full hour about one of the little marquis's friends. He
has related so many ridiculous things of him that the cheva-
lier thinks himself obliged to mention them to his father, who
is his friend ; he thanked La Fayette for his intelligence, for,
in fact, there is nothing of so much consequence as being in
good company, and it often happens that, without being
ridiculous ourselves, we are rendered so by those we associate
with. Make yourself easy upon this subject, the chevalier will
set matters right. I shall be very much mortified if he can
not present his nephew on Sunday ; this gout is a great draw-
back upon our happiness. With respect to Paulina, can you,
my dear child, expect her to be perfect ? She is not mild in
her own apartment ; many persons who are very much be-
loved and respected, have had the same fault. I think you

* The archbishop of Aries was commander of the royal orders o**
knighthood.

260 LETTERS TO

may easily correct it ; but take particular care not to scold and
humiliate her. All my friends load me with a thousand com
pliments and a thousand regards to you. Madame de Lavar-
din called upon me yesterday, to tell me she esteemed you too
highly to send you compliments ; but that she embraced you
with all her heart, and the great Count de Grignan — these
were her words. You have great reason to love her.

What I am going to relate is a fact. Madame de Brinon,
the very soul of St. Cyr, and the intimate friend of Madame
de Maintenon, is no longer at St. Cyr ;* she quitted that place
four days ago ; Madame Hanover, who loves her, brought her
back to the Hotel de Guise, where she still remains. There
does not seem to be any misunderstanding between her and
Madame de Maintenon, for she sends every day to inquire after
her health ; this increases our curiosity to know the subject of
her disgrace. Every one is whispering about it without know-
ing more. If this affair should be cleared up, I will inform
you of the circumstances.

LETTER C.

Paris, Friday, Decemer 31, 1688.
Per torner dunque al nostro proposito,\ I must tell you, my
child, that all the uncertainties of the day before yesterday,

* Madame de Brinon, at that time of the first establishment of St.
Cyr, was placed at the head of that house. She had great learning and
talents, but an equal portion of pride and ambition. The superior only
of the house, she assumed the airs of an abbess. She displayed the
most offensive ostentation ; she held a court ; she opposed Madame de
Maintenon, whose dependent she was. These things offended the
king, as well as her benefactress. A lettre de cachet obliged her to
leave St. Cyr in twenty-four hours.

The Duchess of Hanover, who received her, and who was the daugh-
ter of the celebrated princess palatine, was soon disgusted with Madame
de Brinon, who retired to the Abbey of Maubuisson, and died there, re-
gretting the world, regretting St. Cyr, and regretting life.

f To return then to our proposition.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 261

which seemed to be fixed by the assurances M. de Lamoignon
gave us that the King of England was at Calais, are now
changed into the certainty that he is detained in England ;
and that if this ill fortune has not befallen him, he has per-
ished ; for he was to make his escape, and embark a few hours
after the queen. So, that though we have no certain intelli-
gence of his being arrested, there is not a single person who
does not now credit it. Such is our situation ; and such the
way in which we are closing the present year, and entering
upon that of '89 ; a year marked out by extraordinary pre-
dictions, as pregnant with great events. Not one, however,
will take place that is not agreeable to the order of Provi-
dence, like all our actions, and all our journeyings. We must
submit to every thing, and look boldly in the face of futurity ;
this is going a great way.

In the mean while, count, I address myself to you. Yes-
terday the Knights of St. Michael went through the ceremony
with several of those of the order of the Holy Ghost, at the
hour I mentioned to you after vespers, and to-morrow the rest
will do the same. The chevalier will inform you how it is
managed with respect to the absentees. You must make
your profession of faith, and give an account of your life and
manners. Of this you will be duly informed ; you are not
the only one ; and in the mean time hold off, fair and softly.
Yesterday, M. de Chevreuse, of the order of St. Michael,
passed before M. de la Rochefoucault, who said to him, " Sir,
you pass before me, which you have no right to do." M. de
Chevreuse replied, " Sir, I have a right, for I am Duke de
Luynes." " Oh, sir," rejoined the other, " in this respect I
yield to you." The gazette will inform you, my dear count,
that M. de Luynes has given this duchy to his son, with the
king's permission ; and M. de Chevreuse, who will hencefor-
ward be called M. de Luynes, the duchy of Chevreuse to his
son, who will be styled Duke de Montfort. Your son's com-
rades are highly distinguished by titles. It is said that some
troops are to be sent into Brittany with M. de Momont, Major-

262 LETTERS TO

General, to be under the command of M. de Chauln:«s ; there
will be encampments in all the provinces. You need only
refer to the map, to judge whether we have occasion to be on
our guard on all sides ; cast your eyes for a moment over all
Europe. Madame de Barillon is very uneasy respecting her
husband ;* but it is said at random, for no letters arrive, that
lie is safe, though the chapel of the King of England has been
pulled down, as well as that belonging to the embassador's
household. Time will clear up all this. But who am I
speaking to ? is it still to this count ? My dear child, your
good lady, who swore she would not touch a card till the
King of England had won a battle, will not probably play
again for a long time. Poor woman ! The Prince of Orange
is in London — this is still the subject of my letter, as it is of
all conversation, for every one considers himself as concerned
in this great scene. The queen is still in a convent at Bou-
logne, always in tears at the absence of her husband, whom
she passionately loves.

Madame de Brinon is quite forgotten. A new comedy is
said to be in rehearsal, which is to be represented at St. Cyr,
and is called Esther. The carnival does not promise to be
very gay. My son's letters are constantly filled with the most
affectionate sentiments for you and M. de Grignan. We ex-
pect your letters, but probably shall not answer them till Mon-
day. The chevalier and I have very long conversations about
you ; he is tolerably well, and when your son returns from
Chalons, he intends to accompany him to Versailles. The
good Corbinelli exhausts his rhetoric upon the present situa-
tion of affairs, and at the same time adores you. Adieu, my
lovely child ; I embrace you a thousand times, and wish you a
happy year in that of 1689.

* M. de Barillon was the French Embassador to England.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 263

LETTER CI.

Paris, Monday, January 3, 1689.
Your dear son arrived this morning. We were delighted
to see him and M. du PleSsis ; we were at dinner when they
came, and they ate very heartily of our repast, which was al-
ready somewhat impaired. Oh, that you could have heard all
the marquis said of the beauty of his company ! He first asked
if the company was arrived ; and on the question, whether it
was a fine one, this was the answer he received : " Indeed, sir,
it is ; it is one of the finest that ever was seen ; it is an old
company, and more to be prized than the new ones? You
may guess the effect such an encomium must have on a person
who was not known to be the captain. Our boy was in rap-
tures the next day at the sight of his noble company mounted ;
the men, made on purpose, as it were, and selected by you,
and the horses .cast in the same mold, gave him such high
spirits, that M. de Chalons* and Madame de Noailles (his
mother) entered into his feelings of joy. He has been received
by these pious persons as the son of M. de Grignan ; but why
do I tell you all this ? it is the marquis' business.

LETTER CII.

Paris, Wednesday, January 5, 1689.
I took the marquis with me yesterday ; we began by visiting
M. de la Trousse, who was so obliging as to put on the dresses
of the novice and professor, as on the ceremonial day ; these
two habits set off a fine figure to advantage. A foolish
thought, without considering consequences, made me regret
that the fine shape of M. de Grignan had not shone upon this
occasion. The page's dress is very becoming ; and I am not

* Louis Antoine de Noailles, Bishop de Chalons sur Marne, after-
ward Archbishop and Cardinal of Paris.

264 LETTERS TO

at all surprised that the Princess of Cleves should fall in love
with M. de Nemours and his handsome legs.* The mantle
has all the magnificence of royalty ; it cost La Trousse 800
pistoles, for he purchased it. After having viewed this pretty
masquerade, I took your son to all the ladies in the neighbor-
hood. Madame de Vaubecourt and Madame Oilier received
him with great politeness ; he will soon pay visits upon his
own account.

The Life of St. Louis has induced me to read Mezerai ; I
was willing to take a view of the last kings of the second race,
and I want to unite Philip de Valois with King John ; this is
an admirable period of history, upon which the Abbe de Choisi
has written a book that may be read with interest. We en-
deavor to beat into your son's head the necessity of being a
little acquainted with what has passed before his time ; and it
will have effect ; but, in the mean while, there are many rea-
sons for paying attention to what is passing at present. You
will see by the news of to-day how the King* of England es-
caped from London, apparently with the consent of the Prince
of Orange. Politicians reason upon this subject, and ask if it
be more advantageous for this king to be in France ; some say
Yes, because he is here in security, and will not run the risk
of being compelled to give up his wife and child, or lose his
head ; others say No, because he leaves the Prince of Orange
to enjoy the protectorship, and be adored, having made his
way to it naturally, and without bloodshed. It is certain that
war will soon be declared against us, or perhaps, even we may
declare it first. If we make peace in Italy and Germany, we
may apply ourselves with greater attention to the English and
Dutch war; this is to be hoped, for it would be too much to
have enemies on all sides. You see whither my rambling pen
leads me ; but you may easily suppose that all conversations
turn upon these great events.

* Allusion to Madame de la Fayette's romance.

MADAME DE 6RIGNAN. 265

LETTER Cm.

Paris, Monday, January 10, 1689.

We often stumble upon the same ideas, my dear child ; [
even think that I wrote to you from the Rocks what you say
in your last letter respecting time. I now consent that it
should fly ; the days have no longer any thing so dear and
precious for me as I found them to contain when you were at
the Hotel de Carnavalet. I enjoyed, I made the most of every
hour ; I treasured it as a miser does his gold ; but in absence,
the case is different ; time can not fly fast enough till the
wished-for period arrives ; we hurry it along, and would will-
ingly dispose of all the intermediate space in favor of the days
to which we aspire ; it is a piece of tapestry which we are
eager to finish ; we are lavish of hours, and bestow them on
any one. But I own that when I reflect on the point to
which this profusion of hours and days leads me, I tremble.
I am no longer certain of any, and reason presents me with
the image of what I am certain to find in my way. My child,
I will put an end to these reflections with you, and endeavor
to turn them to my own advantage.

The Abbe Tetu is in an alarming way for want of sleep.
The physicians would not answer for his intellects. He is sen-
sible of his situation, which is an additional calamity : he is
kept alive merely by opium : he seeks for diversion and amuse-
ment, and accordingly frequents public places. We want him
to go to Versailles to see the King and Queen of England, and
the Prince of Wales. Can there be a grander spectacle, or
one more capable of affording the highest interest ? It appears
that the Prince of Orange favored the king's flight. The king
was sent to Exeter, where it was his intention to go ; the front
of his house was well guarded, and all the back doors left
open. The prince was not inclined to sacrifice his father-in-
law. He remains in London in the place of the king, without
taking upon himself the title, being only desirous of restoring
what he thinks the true religion, and supporting the laws o/

12

266 LETTERS TO

the country, without spilling a drop of blood : this is precisely
the reverse of what we thought of him ; we see him in a very
different point of view. Our king, however, acts in a manner
almost divine with respect to their Brittanic Majesties ; for is
it not being the representative of the Almighty to support a
king banished, betrayed, and abandoned ? The noble ambition
of our sovereign is gratified by acting this part. He went to
meet the queen, with all his household, and a hundred coaches
and six. When he perceived the Prince of Wales's car-
riage, he alighted and affectionately embraced him ; he then
ran to the queen, who was by this time alighted ; he saluted
her, talked with her some time, placed her at his right hand
in his carriage, and presented the dauphin and monsieur to
her, who were also in the carriage, and conducted her to St.
Germain, where she found every thing prepared for her like a
queen — all sorts of apparel, and a rich casket containing six
thousand louis-d'ors. The King of England was expected the
next day at St. Germain, where the king waited for him. He
arrived late. His majesty went to the end of the guard-room
to meet him ; the King of England made an inclination as if
to embrace his knees, but the king prevented him, and em-
braced him three or four times very cordially. They talked
together in a low voice for nearly a quarter of an hour ; the
king presented the dauphin and monsieur to him, the princes
of the blood, and Cardinal de Bonzi. He conducted him to
the queen's apartment, who could scarcely refrain from tears.
After a conversation of a few minutes his majesty led them to
the apartment of the Prince of Wales, where they again con-
versed for some time, and he then withdrew, not choosing to
be attended back, saying to the king, " This is your house ;
when I come you will do the honors of it, and I will do the
honors of mine when you come to Versailles." The next day,
which was yesterday, the dauphiness went there with all the
court. I know not how they regulated the chairs, for they
had those belonging to the Queen of Spain ; and the Queen-
mother of England was treated as a daughter of France : I

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 267

shall hereafter send you these particulars. His majesty sent
the King of England ten thousand louis-d'ors ; the latter looks
old and fatigued; the queen is thin, with fine black eyes
swelled with weeping ; a fine complexion, but rather pale ; a
large mouth, beautiful teeth, a fine figure, and a great share of
sense ; no wonder if with all these she pleases every one who
beholds her. Here is matter for general conversation that
will not soon be exhausted.

The poor chevalier can neither write nor go to Versailles,
which grieves us sadly, as he has a thousand things to do
there ; but he is not ill : on Saturday he supped with Madame
de Coulanges, Madame de Vauvineux, M. de Duras, and your
son, at the lieutenant's, where the healths of the first and sec-
ond were drank, that is to say, Madame de la Fayette's and
yours, for you have yielded to the date of friendship. Yester-
day Madame de Coulanges gave a very pretty supper to the
gouty gentlemen, the Abbe de Marsillac, the Chevalier de
Grignan, and M. de Lamoignon, whose nephritic complaints
stood him in stead of the gout ; his wife and the divinities
were admitted in consequence of colds which they are never
without ; I in consideration of the rheumatism I had twelve
years ago, and Coulanges, for deserving to have the gout.
There was no scarcity of conversation ; the little man sung,
and gave the Abbe de Marsillac great pleasure, which he
expressed by his admiration, and by imitating the tones and man-
ners, which reminded me so strongly of his father that I could
not help being affected. Your son was at the Mesdemoiselles
de Castelnau's. There is a younger sister, very pretty and very
agreeable, who is quite to your son's taste, and he leaves the
squint-eyed girl to Sanzei ; he took a hautboy with him, and
they danced till midnight. This society is very pleasant to
the marquis, as he meets St. Herein, Janin, Choiseul, and
Ninon there ; so that he is not in a foreign country. The
chevalier does not seem to be in haste to marry him, nor does
M. de Lamoignon seem very desirous of marrying his daugh-
ter. We can say nothing with respect to the marriage of M

268 LETTERS TO

de Mirepoix,* this is the work of M. de Montfort : people
seem to be infatuated, or else their heads are turned, for they
do not think as they used to do ; in short, this man seems im-
pelled by his destiny, and what can be done in such a case ?

M. de Lauzun is not gone back to England ; he has an
apartment at Versailles, and is perfectly satisfied ; he has writ-
ten to Mademoiselle to have the honor of seeing her, which
has given her great offense. I have performed a master-piece ;
T have been to visit Madame de Ricouart, who is lately re-
turned, very well pleased at being a widow. You have
nothing to do but appoint me to complete your acknowledg-
ments, like your romances, do you recollect ? I thank the
amiable Paulina for her letter ; I am confident her person
would please me ; so she could then find no appellation for me
but that of madam ?\ this is being very serious. Adieu, my
dear child ; preserve your health, in other words, your beauty,
which I so much admire.

LETTER CIV.

Paris, Wednesday, January 12, 1689.
You retired then at five o'clock in the afternoon ; you drew
king and queen at dinner ; you were in as good company as

* G-aston John Baptist de Levis, Marquis de Mirepoix, married, Janu-
ary 16, 1689, to Anne Charlotte Maria de Saint Nectaire, daughter of
Henry Francis, Duke de la Ferte, and of Mary Gabriel Angelica de la
Mothe Houdan court.

f It must have been observed that the Marquis de Grignan followed
this etiquette with his mother, which was the custom among persona
of high rank, and particularly in the southern provinces, where the Ro-
man laws gave fathers an absolute power over their children, which in-
spired children with more respect than love, and exacted the forms of
submission, even in the overflowings of the heart. Madame de Sevigne
was averse to this false dignity, the most gloomy mask that love can
assume ; and it has been seen that she even laughed at her (laughter,
who, in speaking of her grandfather, had written to her, monsieur voi/rt

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 269

at Paris. It will not be my fault if the archbishop (of Aix)
does not know that you are satisfied with him ; I informed
Madame de la Fayette of this the other day, who was much
pleased with the information ; she enjoins you both to lay
aside the spirit and way of thinking of Provence. But to
come to the King and Queen of England. It is so extraordi-
nary to have this court here, that it is the constant subject of
conversation. The regulation of rank and precedency is to be
attended to, in order to render life agreeable to those who are
so unlikely to be restored. This the king said the other day,
adding that the English king was the best man in the world ;
that he should hunt with him ; that he should come to Marli
and Trianon ; and that the courtiers should habituate them-
selves to him. The King of England does not give his hand
to the dauphin, and does not reconduct him. The queen has
not kissed monsieur, who is offended at this ; she said to the
king, " Tell me what you wish me to do ; if you would have me
follow the French fashion, I will salute whom you please ; but
it is not the custom in England to salute any one." She paid
a visit to the dauphiness, who was ill, and who received her in
bed. No one sits in England ; I believe the duchesses will
follow the French fashion, and behave to her as they did to
her mother-in-law.* We are greatly taken up with this new
court.

In the mean time, the Prince of Orange is in London, where
he has imprisoned several lords ; he is severe, and will soon
make himself hated. M. Schomberg is commander-in-chief in
Holland, in the room of this prince, and his son is to have the
reversion : so the mask is now completely thrown off.

pere. Every one knows the humorous speech of the great Conde, be-
fore a man who affected to say Monsieur and Madame in speaking of
his relations : "Monsieur my groom, go and tell monsieur my coach-
man, to put messieurs my horses to monsieur my coach."

* Henrietta of France, daughter of Henry IV., and wife of Charles L
King of England.

270 LETTERS TO

LETTER CV.

Paris, Friday, January 14, 1689.

I have dined, my dear child, and am now in the chevalier's
apartment ; he is in his chair, with a thousand little aches and
pains that fly about him. He has slept well ; but this con-
finement affects his spirits, and vexes him exceedingly ; I too
am grieved at it, as I know the ill consequences better than
any one. It is very cold ; the thermometer is at the lowest
degree ; our river is frozen ; it snows, freezes, and thaws at
the same time ; there is no walking in the streets ; I keep to
the house, and to the chevalier's chamber. If I could have an
answer from you before the end of a fortnight, I would desire
you to tell me whether I do not incommode him, by staying
with him all day ; but as I have no time to lose, I put this
question to himself, and I fancy he is not displeased at it. The
weather is an additional cause of his illness ; it is not the sort
he likes ; it is always unfavorable when it is extreme.

M. de Gobelin is still at St. Cyr ; Madame de Brinon is at
Maubuisson, where she will soon be tired ; she can never re-
main long in a place ; she has made many agreements, and
been in several convents ; her good sense does not screen her
from this error. Madame de Maintenon is much pleased with
the comedy* which she has made her young ladies of St. Cyr

* It was the Superieure Brinon who first made the pensioners of St.
Cyr perform pieces of her selection. They were ill chosen. Cinna,
and afterward Andromache, were substituted in their room. But there
was so much love in this last tragedy, and the young ladies played it so
well, that it was not judged proper for their representation. This was
what Madame de Maintenon wrote herself to Racine, at the same time
desiring him to supply another poem, moral or historical. Racine hes-
itated: he wished to please the court, but the public and posterity
withheld him. He deemed it impossible to fill the frame that was given
him, by a performance worthy of his music. Boileau, too, despaired of
it. Racine thought of the subject of Esther ; and his friend considered
it well judged, as it really was. This very Boileau, the severity of
whose taste and character made him so much aspersed, gave, in hia

MADAME DE 6RIGNAN. 271

perform ; it will be a very fine piece according to report.
She has paid a visit to the Queen of England, who, having
made her wait a moment, said she was very sorry she had lost
any time in seeing and conversing with her, and received her
extremely well. Every one is pleased with this queen ; she
has an excellent understanding. She said to the king, on see-
ing him caress the Prince of Wales, who is a lovely child, "I
formerly envied the happiness of my son, in not feeling his
misfortunes ; but I now pity him, for being insensible to your
majesty's caresses and kindness." All she says is proper and
to the purpose ; but this is not the case with her husband :
he has a great share of courage, but his understanding is not
above the common standard ; he relates what has passed in
England with an insensibility that excites the same feeling
for himself. He is a good man,* and partakes of all the
amusements of Versailles. The dauphiness does not intend
to visit this queen ; she wants her right hand seat and chair
of state, which can not be ; she will therefore be always in
bed, when the queen visits her. Madame is to have an arm-
chair upon the left hand, and the princesses of the blood are
to visit with her ; before whom they have tabourets only. The
duchesses will be upon the same footing as at the dauphiness's ;
this is settled. The king, knowing that a king of France gave
a Prince of Wales only a chair on the left hand, chooses that
the King of England should treat the dauphin in the same
manner, and precede him. He is to receive Monsieur without
chair or ceremony. The queen has saluted him, saying to our
sovereign what I told you. It is not yet certain that M. de
Schomberg is to succeed the Prince of Orange in Holland.
This is a year of falsehood.

regard for Racine, the most perfect example of friendship — an example
perhaps, that will never again be met with between two men gifted
with the same kind of superiority.

* The Archbishop of Rheims, brother of M. de Louvois, seeing him
come out of the chapel of Versailles, said: M "What a good man! he has
given up three kingdoms for a mass."

272 LETTERS TO

LETTER CVI.

Paris, Monday, January IT, 1689.

My letter, then, is dignified with a title ; this is a proof of
its singular merit. I am glad my story amused you. I can
never guess at the effect my letters will produce, but this has
been a happy one.

If you sought an opportunity of coming to an explanation
with the archbishop, instead of suffering the misunderstanding
which people endeavor to create between you to ferment, a
short time would clear up the whole, or you would silence
chatterers ; either of these is desirable, and you will find good
result from it ; you will put an end, it is true, to the amuse-
ments of the Provencals ; but it is only silencing ridiculous
impertinence. M. de Barillon is arrived ; he has found a fam-
ily group, with many of whose faces he was not acquainted.
He is grown very fat, and said to M. de Harlai, " Sir, do not
remind me of my fat, and I will say nothing to you of your
lean." He is very lively, and much of the same disposition
as his namesake whom you know. I will pay all your com-
pliments to him, when they will not appear forced ; I have
done so with regard to Madame de Sully, who returns you a
thousand with a very good grace ; and to the countess,* who
is too witty upon M. de Lauzun, whom she wished to raise to
the pinnacle of honor, and who has neither an apartment at
Versailles, nor the free admittance he formerly had. He is
merely returned to court, and his exploit does not appear so
extraordinary, though a very pretty romance was at first made
out of it.

The English court is quite established at St. Germain ; they
would not accept more than 15,000 livres a month, and have
regulated their court upon that foundation. The queen is
very much liked ; our king converses very pleasantly with

* The Countess de Fiesque, the constant friend of M. de Lauzun,
and who often performed the part of mediatrix between him and
mademoiselle.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 273

her ; she has good sense without affectation. The king
wished the dauphiness to pay her the first visit, but she was
always so conveniently indisposed, that this queen paid her a
visit three days ago, admirably dressed ; a black velvet robe,
a beautiful petticoat, her hair tastefully disposed, a figure like
the Princess de Conti's, and great dignity of manner. The
king received her as she alighted ; she went first into his
apartment, where she had a chair below the king's ; here she
remained half an hour ; he then conducted her to the dau-
phiness, who was up ; this occasioned a little surprise ; the
queen said to her, " I expected to have found you in bed,
madam." " I wished to rise, madam," replied the dauphiness,
" to receive the honor your majesty does me." The king left
them, as the dauphiness has no chair in his presence. The
queen took her place, with the dauphiness on her right hand,
madame on her left, and there were three other chairs for the
three young princes. They conversed together for upward
of half an hour ; several duchesses were present, and the court
was very numerous. At length she retired ; the king gave
orders to be informed of it, and handed her back to her car-
riage. I do not know how far the dauphiness went with her,
but I shall hear. The king, upon his return, highly praised
the queen ; he said, " This is how a queen ought to be, both
in person and mind, holding her court with dignity." He ad-
mired her courage in misfortunes, and her affection for her
husband ; for it is certain that she loves him, as that hateful
woman, Madame de R***, told you. Some of our ladies who
wished to assume the airs of princesses, did not kiss the
queen's robe, some of the duchesses wished to avoid it also ;
but the king was displeased at this, and they now pay her
homage. Madame de Chaulnes has been informed of these
particulars, but has not yet performed this duty.

12*

2*74 LETTERS TO

LETTER CVIL

Paris, Wednesday, February 16, 1689.

The chevalier is still at Versailles, but I expect him this
evening. The marquis dined with me the other day ; I con-
versed a good deal with him, and I can assure you, with much
satisfaction. There is an air of truth and modesty in all he says,
which does not in the least resemble the style of these thought-
less youths who always appear fools or liars. He related to me
all the fatigues of his journey to Philipsburg, which were very
great ; little D'Auvergne had the fever for four days, from
mere weariness ; the marquis is strong, and bears this first trial
with great courage ; he told me his other adventures, gave me
an account of all the blows that were given on each side of
him, and the contusion he received ; and this, without ostenta-
tion, with a cool composed air of veracity, which is highly
pleasing. I love to converse with him, and lose no opportu-
nity of doing it; he supped yesterday with M. Turgot, and
some young folks, at the rich little La Martilliere's ; he re-
turned at midnight. He is gone to the horse-market, being
wholly taken up with his company ; he will write to you to-
night : he loves you, and knows your extreme affection ; you
do nothing for him to which he is not as sensible as you can
possibly wish : it is not even necessary to rouse him upon this
subject.

I dined yesterday with Mademoiselle de Goileau ; it was a
company of wits ; the Abbe de Polignac, the Abbe de Rohan,
his doctor, Abbe David, and Corbinelli. After dinner they
discussed, very pleasantly, the philosophy of your Father Des-
cartes ; it was with great difficulty they could comprehend the
motion God gives to a ball that is pushed by another ; they
would have it that the first communicated its motion, and you
know how the Abbe Polignac and Corbinelli exclaimed upon
the occasion : this diverted me, and brought my dear little Car-
tesian to my remembrance, whom even I could understand so
readily. From thence I went to Madame de la Fayette's where,

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 275

by good fortune, I found only M. de Pomponne and M. de Baril-
lon : we spent two hours very agreeably, and the more so as
we are seldom so fortunate. They say that the English par-
liament has made the Prince of Orange king, because the
former king has deserted his kingdom, and broken the treaty
between sovereign and subjects ; that his flight is an abdica-
tion ; that they are determined to render the throne elective ;
and that the parliament would not allow the Princess of
Orange to be queen : these were the reports of yesterday,
The chevalier will bring us news from Versailles. Some say
with regard to the King of England's apathy, that by hearing
him talk, it is easy to guess why he is here.

LETTER CVm.

Paris, Monday, February 21, 1689.
It is certain that we are separated from each other by a
grievous distance: this is enough to make us shudder; but
what would it have been if I had added to it the road from
hence to the Rocks or Rennes ? This, however, will not take
place so soon. Madame de Chaulnes wishes to see the termi-
nation of several affairs, and I am only afraid that she will set
out too late, considering my intention of returning next winter,
which I must do for several reasons ; the first of which is that
I am convinced M. de Grignan will be obliged to return on
account of his knighthood, and you can not take a better op-
portunity to escape from your falling, uninhabitable castle, and
come and pay your court a little with the knight of the order,
who will not be a knight till that time. ]_I_paid mine the
other day at St. Cyr much more agreeably than I expected.
We, that is, Madame de Coulanges, Madame de Bagnols, the Ab-
be Tetu, and I, went on Saturday. We found our places kept ;
an officer told Madame de Coulanges that Madame de Main-
tenon had ordered a place for her next herself ; you see what
honor is paid her. " You, madam," said he, " may choose."

2*78 LETTERS TO

I p7 aced myself with Madame de Bagnols in the second row
behind the duchesses. Marshal de Bellefond came, and placed
himself by choice at my right hand, and before us were the
Duchesses d'Auvergne, De Coislin, and De Sully. The marshal
and I listened to the tragedy with an attention that was re-
marked, and bestowed some praises in a low voice that were
very well placed. I can not tell you the extreme beauty of
this piece : it is a performance not easy to represent, and is in-
imitable : it is the union of music, poetry, singing, and charac-
ter, so perfect and complete that there is nothing we wish to
alter. The young ladies who represent kings and great per-
sonages seem to be made on purpose. It commands attention,
and the only unpleasant circumstance attending it is, that so
fine a production should at last end. Every thing in it is sim-
ple and innocent, sublime and affecting : the sacred history is
so faithfully adhered to as to create respect ; all the airs cor-
responding with the words, which are taken from the Psalms
or Ecclesiastes, and interwoven with the subject, are singu-
larly beautiful; the taste and attention of the audience are
the criterions of the merit of the piece. I was delighted
with it, and so was the marshal, who left his place to in-
form the king how much he was gratified, that he was seated
next to a lady who was very worthy of seeing Esther. The king
approached our seat, and having turned round, addressed him-
self to me : "I am told, madam," said he, " that the piece
has given you satisfaction." I replied, with perfect self-pos-
session, " Sire, I am delighted ; what I feel is beyond the
power of words to describe." The king continued, " Racine
has great talents." I replied, " Sire, he has indeed ; and so
have these young people : they enter into the subject as if it
had been their sole employment." " Ah ! that is very true,"
he rejoined. And then he retired, leaving me the object of
universal envy. As I was almost the only new spectator, the
king took pleasure in observing my genuine admiration, which
was without noise or parade.* The prince and princess came

* By mentioning the circumstance to which she believed she was

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 2*7

and spoke a word to me ; Madame de Maintenon flashed upon
me like lightning, and then retired to the king. I answered
every one, being in one of my happiest moods. We returned
at night with flambeaux. I supped at Madame de Coulanges',
to whom the king had also spoken with an air of affability
that made him appear fascinating. I saw the chevalier at
night. I related to him very naturally my little good fortune,
being unwilling to conceal it without a reason, as some people
do. He was pleased, and here I conclude upon this head. I
am sure he did not afterward find in me any ridiculous van-
ity, or the transports of a vulgar country bumpkin. Ask him.
M. de Meaux talked to me a good deal about you, and so did
the prince. I pitied you for not being present ; but how was
it possible ? one can not be every where. You were at the
opera at Marseilles. As Atys is not only too happy, but
too charming, it is impossible you could have been tired with
it. Paulina must have been surprised at such a spectacle ; she
has no right to wish for a more perfect one. I have so pleas-
ing an idea of Marseilles, that I am persuaded you are
amused there ; and I will back the dissipations of that place
against those of Aix.

But on that very Saturday, after the representation of Es-
ther, the king was informed of the death of the young Queen
of Spain,* who was carried off in two days by a violent vom

indebted for this little favor of the king, she proves sufficiently that
she was not so much elated with it as has been pretended.

* Maria-Louisa of Orleans, daughter of monsieur, and of Henrietta-
Anne of England, his first wife.

Madame de la Fayette says in her Memoirs, that the Queen of Spain
was poisoned by a cup of chocolate. Dangeau affirms that it was by
an eel pie. Madame, in her Lettres Originates, maintains that the poi-
son was communicated by raw oysters.

Voltaire has denied this poisoning, as well as several others. It was
a system of the historian. But he only confutes Dangeau's account,
who had said that three of the queen's women had died in consequence
of eating of the same dish. Against this detail he brings forward re-
spectable authority.

Madame de la Fayette, who, in the life of Madame (Henrietta of

2f8 LETTERS TO

iting : this has very much the air of foul play. The king
informed monsieur of it next day, which was yesterday ; great
was the grief upon the occasion ; madame wept bitterly, and
the king retired in a flood of tears.

It is said there is good news from England ; not only the
Prince of Orange is not elected king or protector, but he is
given to understand that he and his troops have nothing to
do but return: this shortens our solicitude. If this news
should gain ground, our Brittany will be in less agitation, and
my son will not have the mortification of commanding the
nobility of the viscounty of Rennes, and the barony of Vitre.
They have chosen him, against his will, to be at their head.
Any one else would be greatly elated with this honor, but he
is vexed at it, not liking, under any title whatever, to take the
field in that way.

England), had not dared to confirm the opinion of her having died by
poison, joined with Yoltaire in that of the Queen of Spain, daughter of
this princess.

The evidence of Madame (De Baviere) would be stronger if she were
not so partial, and did not show herself so ready to give credit to every
crime. What she adds, that it was two of the queen's French waiting
women who poisoned her, is very improbable.

She says, however, that it was the Earl of Mansfield who procured
the poison, a circumstance which agrees with the common report of
that period.

In fact, all the letters and memoirs of cotemporary writers agree in
saying that the Council of Spain, devoted to the emperor and the
Prince of Orange, and resolved to enter into the league against France,
wished to remove a queen who was too good a Frenchwoman, and
who, governing her husband, was too great an obstacle to the projects
of war that had been formed.

It is true that such a report, at the moment of the breaking out of
hostilities, can not pass for an historical proof; but it must be ownod
that it very nearly resembles truth.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 279

LETTER CIX.

Paris, Ash-Wednesday, February 23, 1689.
My dear child, the life you lead at Marseilles delights me.
I love that city, which resembles no other in the world. Ah !
how well I understand Paulina's admiration ! How natural,
how just, how novel all her surprise must be ! How pretty I
think her ! how pleasing to me is the mind which my fancy
gives her ! It seems to me that I love her, and that you do
not love her enough. You want her to be all perfection. Did
she engage for this when she left her convent ? You are not
just. Who is there without faults ? Do you, in conscience,
expect her to be free from them ? Whence can this hope
arise ? It is not in nature. You wish her then to be a pro-
digious prodigy, such as was never before seen. If I were
with you, I think I should do her some good offices, merely by
correcting your imagination a little, and by asking you, if a
young girl, who thinks of nothing but pleasing you and im-
proving herself, who loves and fears you, and who has a great
share of understanding, is not in the first rank of excellence ?
These are the dictates of my heart in favor of my dear Pau-
lina, whom I love, and whom I entreat you immediately to
embrace for my sake. Add to this her good conscience, which
makes her renounce the compact, when she sees the jugglers
perform their necromancies. This life, though agreeable, must
have fatigued you ; it is too much for you, my dear child ; you
go to bed late, and you rise early, I have had apprehensions
for your health. The reason I do not talk to you of mine is,
that it is as I wish yours to be, and that I have nothing to say
upon the subject.

LETTER CX.

Paris. Monday, February 28, 1689.
The chevalier went yesterday to Versailles to know his fate ;
for, not finding himself in the lists that have appeared, he ia

280 LETTERS TO

anxious to know whether he is reserved for the dauphin's
army, which has not yet been mentioned. As he has said
that he was capable of serving, he has a right to think that he
has not been forgotten ; at all events it will not be his fault ;
he is one of the best. It is certain that the King of England
set out this morning for Ireland, where he is expected with
impatience ; he will be better there than here. He will tra-
verse Brittany with the swiftness of lightning ; and go straight
to Brest, where he will find Marshal d'Estrees, and ships and
frigates ready ; he takes with him 50,000 crowns. The king
has given him sufficient arms for 10,000 men. As his Britan-
nic majesty took leave, he said with a smile, " That arms for
himself were the only things that had been forgotten ;" our
king gave him his ; the heroes of romance never did any thing
more gallant than this action. What will not this brave but
unhappy king do, with arms that have ever been victorious ?
Behold him then with the casque and cuirass of Rinoldo and
Amadis, and all our most celebrated knights-errant; I will
not say of Hector, for he was unfortunate. There is not an
offer that can be suggested, that our king has not made him ;
generosity and magnanimity have been carried to their height.
M. d'Avaux* is to go with him ; he set out two days ago.
You will ask why M. de Barillonf was not the person. The
reason is, that M. d'Avaux, being perfectly acquainted with
the affairs of Holland, will be more useful, than he who is ac-
quainted only with those of England.J The queen has shut
herself up at Poissi with her son ; she will be near the king,
and the fountain-head of intelligence. She is overwhelmed

* John- Anthony de Mesmes, Count d'Avaux, nephew of Claudius de
Mesmes, also Count d'Avaux, both celebrated for their superior talents
in negotiation, and for uncommon qualities of heart and mind.

f M. de Barillon had been embassador to England.

% The reason assigned here for the preference that was given to M.
d'Avaux, is not the true one : d'Avaux had the merit of having fore-
seen and announced every event that happened, whereas De Barillon
had the misfortune to be wrong in every thing ; this was the real cause
of the preference.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 281

with grief, and suffers from a nephritic complaint, that makes
it feared she has the stone ; she is really to be pitied. You
see, my dear child, it is the rage of talking that makes me
write all this ; the chevalier and the gazette will give you bet-
ter information than I can do. Your son has lived with me;
I never leave him, and he is satisfied. He is going to take
leave of the little Mesdemoiselles Castelnau ; but his heart has
yet no attractions. His duty and his regiment take up all his
time. He is delighted at the thoughts of going, and of setting
the example to others.

LETTER CXI.

Paris, Wednesday, March 2, 1689.
Shrove-Tuesday is not an indifferent day to Paulina. I can
not help scolding you, my dear child, for not having sent her
prettily to the good Langlee's, to dance a little with Madem-
oiselle d'Oraison ; what harm would there have been in allow-
ing her this little pastime? I am sure this dear child is inte-
resting, that she has a good air, a good carriage, and even
eclipses more regular beauties. I scold you also for reading
all your letters before you go to bed. I know it is scarcely
possible to keep them till the next day ; but you must calcu-
late upon not sleeping, for there will often be many things in
them that will create disagreeable thoughts ; nor would it be
a whit better if they contained nothing but reflections and
news. Before the imagination has sifted the contents, the
night is gone. As you know all this to be true, settle the
matter for the benefit of your health. I took my marquis yes-
terday to Madame du Pui-du-fou's ; she grows very old. M.
de Mirepoix, who had been there once before to see me, came
a second time, and each time his whole conversation turned
upon his condescension in marrying to please his family. The
little puppet is dying of the spleen in this dreary abode. I after-
ward went to Madame de Lavardin's, to whom I remembered

282 LETTERS TO

you. She embraced your son several times. She loves you
dearly, and so does Madame de Mouci ; but this last is in the
third heaven ; she has lost a sister, who was a nun, for whom
she had very little regard : T shall make your compliments to
her and her learned brother.* The chevalier arrived last night,
and is very well ; he will be employed, but he knows not yet
in what country ; I admire his courage. Your son is a very
agreeable and a very pretty fellow ; he already manages all
his affairs, gives orders, makes purchases, and keeps his ac-
counts ; it is a pity his father had not done the same. The
chevalier will inform you what our king said to the King of
England at his taking leave : " Sir, it is with grief I see you
depart, yet I never wish to see you again ; but if you return,
be assured you will find me the same as you leave me." Could
any thing better have been said ? He has loaded him with
every thing, great and small ; two millions of money, ships,
frigates, troops, officers, and M. d'Avaux, who makes, upon
the occasion, one of the most brilliant figures in the world. I
will venture to say that there is no one who would not be
proud of the employment, who would not think it worthy of
a man thoroughly acquainted with business, and capable of
giving advice : if M. de Barillon is not sensible of this he is
very happy. I now come to the minutiae, such as toilets,
camp-beds, services of plate, plain and gilt, arms for his per-
son, which are the king's ; arms for the troops in Ireland, and
those who go with him, who are very numerous ; in short,
generosity, magnificence, and magnanimity were never so
strikingly displayed as upon this occasion. The king is not
willing that the queen should go to Poissi ; she will see very
little company, but the king will take care of her, and she
will receive news without intermission. The parting of the
King and Queen of England rent the hearts of all the specta-
tors ; nothing but tears, sighs, lamentations, and swoonings
were to be seen or heard, which is very easy to be compre-

* Achilles de Harlay, then attorney-general, and afterward first
president in the parliament of Paris, in November, 1689.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 283

bended. Such is his destiny. He has a good cause ; he is

the protector of the true religion, and his courage will allow
him no other alternative than conquest or death.

LETTER CXII.

Paris, Wednesday, March 23, 1689.

I shall not retract the praises I have bestowed on the tragedy
of Esther ; I shall be delighted with the harmony and novelty
of this spectacle as long as I live ; I was in raptures with it ; I
found in it a thousand things so just, so well introduced, and
so important to a king, that I entered with uncommon spirit
into the pleasure arising from the utterance, in fiction and
song, of the most solid truths ; I was affected with these
various beauties, and am very far from changing my opinion.
But I told you that the impression of this piece has produced
its usual effect, and has brought forth a civil demur against ex-
cessive applause. I, who have read it again with pleasure,
suppose that the critics are routed, as M. d'Aiguebonne will be
with his demur, if the chevalier has time to press the point.
The victory of the grand council has been brilliant and grati-
fying, and I doubt not that it will give you ample satisfaction ;
I am impatient to receive your letter upon this subject. M.
de Lamoignon told me again to-day, that this advantage,
gained sword in hand, was greater than we supposed. I told
him he was mistaken, as we had felt the pleasure in its fullest
extent. He is very much engaged in the great cause between
mademoiselle, the prince, and the whole house of Lorraine,
who have recourse to law in the same way we have. M. de
Lamoignon is to plead on Thursday, and the affair will be de-
termined upon hearing.

The King of England set sail on the 17 th, and arrived in
Ireland on the 19th. Little Mailly, who accompanied him to
Brest, is returned. Adieu, my beloved child ; I dread an in-
crease of distance from you; it makes me ill. I swallow

284 LETTERS TO

this journey like a dose of medicine ; but the worst is, that I
have no time to lose ; in truth, my reflections are often of the
most melancholy cast ; for, though I submit to that Provi-
dence which separates us, what would become of me if I had
not the hope of seeing you again ?

LETTER CXHL

The Rocks, Wednesday, June 1, 1689.

Paulina is too fortunate in being your secretary ; she learns,
as I told you, to think, and express her thoughts, by seeing
how you express yours. She is learning the French language,
which most women are ignorant of, but you take the trouble
of explaining words to her, which she would not understand ;
and by instructing her in so many subjects, you relieve your
own head and mine. The tediousness of dictating is not
equal to the fatigue of writing ; and my mind is never at rest,
but when I know yours is so. Persevere, then, in instructing
your daughter so properly, and in affording so great a relief
to yourself and to me.

When you are assured of my being in perfect health, you
do every thing that can be done, which is to dread its inter-
ruption. This too sometimes engages my thoughts, and not
finding any of those little inconveniences with which you are ac-
quainted, I say with astonishment, I must, however, expect
that this happy state will change ; and I conclude, that I
ought, as upon all other occasions, to submit to the will of
God, and believe, that in inflicting ills upon me, he will give
me patience. I will therefore enjoy my present lot.

LETTER CXIV.

The Rocks, Sunday, July 3, 1689.
It is nine months this third of July, reckoning from day to
day, and from Sunday to Sunday, since I left you with a del-

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 285

uge of tears, and more than you perceived, at Charenton.
Such partings are grievous and bitter, particularly when we
have not much time to lose. But to turn them to our advan-
tage, we ought to make them a period of abstinence and pen-
ance, wbich would be the sure means of making them salu-
tary ; it is certain that this holy economy is a favor from
heaven, like all others, which we do not deserve to obtain.
Nine months, then, have passed, in which I have neither seen
nor embraced you, nor even heard the sound of your voice. I
have not been ill, I have had no particular uneasiness ; I have
seen fine houses, fine countries, and fine cities. Nevertheless,
I must acknowledge that it appears to me nine years since I
left you. I have had no letter from you this post ; the delay
is always a disappointment to me. Madame de Lavardin tells
me that she said to Madame de Buri, with regard to Chabril-
land's cause, which the last expects to gain, " You have al-
ways great expectations ; but one of your friends, who under-
stands these things, is not of the same opinion." " Ah !" said
she, " you mean M. de Fieubet, but I do not believe him."
And Madame de Lavardin afterward told me that M. d' Aries
is to have the honor of the civil petition. It is he, then, who
is to be the solicitor ; but I would not, I think, solicit with
beat of drum in open court, where people are convinced you
have already but too much credit. We lead here, my dear
countess, the life I described to you. It is very fine weather ;
we are so perfumed at night with jasmines and orange-
flowers, that in this respect I think I am in Provence. M.
and Madame de Chaulnes have written to me from St. Malo,
and constantly mention you. Write to La Troche ; she can
not be consoled for your forgetfulness of her. I know not
how it has happened, for you are punctual. It is not possible
that I have not informed you of the death of her husband. I
expect your answer.

286 LETTERS TO

LETTER CXV.

The Rocks, Wednesday, October 5, 1689.
It had never entered my brain to accuse certain iron wires
in the head-dress of being the cause of long faces ; this hint
would be very useful to certain persons of our acquaintance.
I had heard they were very friendly ; but no, quite the contrary.
These two little wires press against the temples, prevent the
circulation of blood, and cause abscesses. Some die in con-
sequence. They may consider themselves fortunate whose
faces are only lengthened an ell, and who become as pale as
death ; but young people, who are more hardy, may recover
in time. I am very much inclined to place this story in the
class with some others, formerly related to me by the good
Princess de Tarente ; however, it is not amiss to know every-
thing.

I do not in the least doubt that M. de la Garde, who never
refused a remedy, will avail himself of that of the lady you
mention. You will see him with his head upon the ground,
and his heels in the air, turning an affair* like her ; I really
believe that if we were to pursue this regimen for any length
of time, we should no longer have sore eyes. I have nothing
to give you in return for your account of this visit.

We have had a very worthy, sensible, agreeable, unaffected,
learned, and every way desirable, visitor with us ; a man of
great endowments, and capable of entering upon every subject
of conversation ; he has been here for a week. One of his
brothers-in-law is arrived, the Abbe de Marbeuf, who spoils
nothing ; and a brother-in-law of the Count de Lis, who would
spoil every thing if he opened his lips ; this is a secret misan-
thropist, for he keeps his chagrin to himself; he is very well
made, and sings so much like Beaumaviel, that he might be
mistaken for him. When our worthy friend departed, every

* It has already been observed that this was a favorite expression
of M. de la Garde.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 287

thing was comparatively flat and insipid; we renewed the
just observations we made in this country with you, on pleas-
ant and disagreeable company ; and fixed that the disagreea-
ble was the most desirable ; their absence is a relief ; whereas
pleasant society leaves us dull and dejected ; we can not easily
pursue the old track ; in short, it is a great misfortune to as-
sociate with sensible people, but it is a misfortune that does not
often happen to us

LETTER CXVL

The Rocks, Sunday, November 13, 1689.

Your* letter is not yet arrived ; this is always a grief to me ;
though I have in some degree got the better of the apprehen-
sions I formerly suffered from the delay ; it is the whim of the
post, and we must endure it ; but as I am constantly with you
at Grignan, I lose the thread of the conversation ; this it is
that vexes me. I know not whether you go to the assembly
with M. de Grignan, or remain at your chateau. I am very
uneasy about the chevalier's health, and the effects of the bark,
repeated in its usual dose ; its heat operating upon that of the
chevalier's blood, brings to my mind an old saying, When the
brave meets the brave, they remain brave. We hope, therefore,
that this brave bark will make the blood remain brave ; God
grant it may ; it is very difficult to subdue.

I have received a long letter from my new friend, the man-
wolf Guebriac ; I would have sent it to you, as his style, which
is very easy, would be agreeable enough, if he did not praise
me so extravagantly ; in fact, my modesty will not suffer it ;
he is so astonished to find a woman with a few good qualities
and good principles, who in her youth had some charms, that
he seems to have passed his life in a whirlwind of passions,
among a banditti equally devoid of faith and law, where love
reigned alone, despoiled of every kind of virtue ; this has given
rise to some very pleasant things.

288 LETTERS TO

We are reading the History of the Church by M. de Go-
deau ;* it is really a very fine work ; in what a respectable
light does it place religion ! we are ready to suffer martyrdom
with Abbadie. Every thing has its turn ; Corisca is very
pretty and very roguish ; altri tempi, altre cure. Love me al-
ways, -my dear child, but never weigh other love in the same
scale with yours ; your heart is of the first order, and no one
resembles it.

LETTER CXVII.

The Rocks, Wednesday, January 11, 1690.

Good heavens ! what a new year's gift ! what wishes ! what
could be more calculated to charm me ? I will tell you a
feeling I have just discovered in myself; if it could repay
yours I should be satisfied, for I have no other coin : instead
of the kind fears which the frequent deaths that surround you
occasion, and which make you think of others, I offer you the
real consolation, and even the joy, which frequently arise to me
from my being older than you. The thought that the oldest
goes first, and that I shall probably and naturally keep my
rank with my dear child, constitutes the true charms of this
feeling. What have I not 'suffered, when your ill state of
wealth made me dread a reverse of the order of nature ?
These were trying times ; let us talk no more of them ; you
.ire well, God be praised ; and every thing has resumed its
natural course. God preserve you ; I believe you hear my
tone of voice, and know me.

I now come to the chevalier ; I have no hesitation in believ-
ing that the climate of Provence would agree with him better
in winter than that of Paris. All those who, like swallows,
fly to your sunshine, afford sufficient testimony of this. But,
while I rejoice at his being sensible of the difference, I am
grieved at his having lost a thousand crowns of his income ;

* Antony Godeau, Bishop of G-rasse and Yence.

MADAME DE GRI6NAN. 289

and by what means ? was his regiment worth so m uch to
him ? He will sell it then to the marquis ;* but will not the
money arising from it, in payment of debts, diminish the in-
terest of loans ? Settle this account for me, which makes me
uneasy ; I can not figure to myself the Chevalier de Grignan
at Paris without his genteel and neat little equipage ; I can
not see him walking on foot, nor inquiring for places to Ver-
sailles ; such an idea can not enter my head ; this article is
interlocutory ; ah, how happily this term of chicanery finds
admittance here ! Neither do I comprehend your sixty-four
people, besides guards ; you deceive me, this can not be your
meaning, you must give me a mathematical demonstration.

With regard to Paulina, you can not surely hesitate respect-
ing the choice you have to take, between good and evil. The
superiority of your understanding will easily point out to you
the true road ; every thing leads you to your duty ; honor
conscience, and the power you possess. When I consider how
much she has corrected herself in a short time to please you,
and how much she is improved, you will be answerable for all
the good she neglects. As to reading, you are too much engaged
in conversation and discussion to attend to it : we are most quiet
here, and therefore, have leisure for it. I even read works I
had slightly run over at Paris, and which appear quite new to
me. We also read, by way of interlude to our grand lec-
tures, scraps that we meet with, such as the fine funeral ora-
tions of M. de Bossuet,f M. Flechier,J M. Mascaron,§ Father
Bourdaloue : we pay a fresh tribute of tears to M. de Tu-
renne, Madame de Montausier, the Prince, the late Madame,
and the Queen of England ; we admire the portrait of Crom-
well : these are master-pieces of eloquence, which charm the
mind. You must not say, " These are old ;" they are not old,

* The Chevalier de Grignan, attaining the rank of field marshal in
1688, had leave to keep his regiment, that he might afterward resign
in favor of the Marquis de Grignan his nephew.

f The Bishop of Meaux. J The Bishop of Nismes.

§ The Bishop of Agen.

13

290 LETTERS TO

they are divine. Paulina should be made acquainted and de-
lighted with them ; but this is calculated solely for the Rocks.
I know not what book to recommend to Paulina : Davila is
fine in Italian, we have read it ; Guicciardini is very long ; I
should like the anecdotes of Medicis, which are an abridg-
ment, but they are not in Italian. I will not name Benti-
voglio again ;* let her confine herself to poetry, I do not like
Italian prose ; to Tasso, Aminto, II Pastor Fido, etc. I dare
not add Ariosto, there are some bad passages in it ; let her also
read history ; let her cherish this taste, which may long pre-
serve her from idleness ; it is to be feared that if this part of
reading were suppressed there would be scarcely any thing to
read ; let her begin with the life of Theodosius the Great, and
let her tell me how she likes it. This, my child, is a letter of
trifles ; we set apart some days for chatting, without offense
to serious matters, in which we always take true interest.

LETTER CXVIII.

The Rocks, Sunday, January 15, 1690.

You are right, I can not reconcile myself to the date of this
year ; it has, however, been already begun for some time ; and
you will find, that, let us pass it as we may, we shall soon find
the bottom of the bag that contained the thousand livres.f

You really spoil me, and so do my Paris friends ; the sun
has scarcely gained upon us a barley-corn before you tell me
when you shall expect me at Grignan; and my friends desire
me to fix from that hour the time of my departure, in order
to hasten their joy. Such pressing civilities flatter me highly,
and particularly yours, which admit of no comparison. I will,
then, sincerely confide to my dear countess, that between this

* Gui Bentivoglio, cardinal, and author of the Civil Wars in Flan-
ders, and several other works.

+ Madame de Sevigne' compared the twelve months of the year to a
bag with a thousand livres, which is exhausted almost as soon as it is
opened.

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 291

and September, I can not entertain a thought of leaving this
country ; this is the time when I send my little means to
Paris, of which only a very small part is gone. This is the
time when the Abbe Charier is treating for my fines and sales,
which amount to ten thousand livres ; but more of this here-
after ; let us content ourselves with driving away every hope
of taking the least step before the time I have mentioned. I
will not, however, say that you are my goal, my perspective ;
you know it well, and that you are so firmly rooted in my
heart that I fear M. Nicole would find much difficulty to prune
you away ; this, in short, is my disposition. You use the
most affectionate expression possible to me, in hoping you may
never see the end of the happy years you wish me. We are
very far from agreeing in our wishes ; for I have informed
you of a very just and very proper truth, which God will
doubtless grant, and which is to follow the natural order of
providence ; this is my comfort through the thorny road of
old age : mine is a rational feeling, and yours too extraordinary
and too kind a one.

As to Paulina, that devourer of books, I had rather she
should swallow bad ones, than have no love for reading ; ro-
mances, plays, Voiture, Sarrasin, have all been exhausted ; has
she dipped into Lucian ? is she capable of enjoying Les Petites
Lettres ? History should come next, and if she does not find
her account in this, I pity her. If she does not like the finest
works of devotion, so much the worse for her, for we know
but too well that even without devotion ourselves, they are
charming. With respect to ethics, as she would not make so
good a use of it as you, I would not have her meddle either
with Montaigne, Charron, or any others of his stamp ; she is
too young. The true morality of this age, is what we learn
in conversation, fables, history, and example. If you were to
bestow a little of your time upon her in conversation, she
would reap greater benefit from this than from all the rest. I
know not whether what I say is worth your reading, I am
very far from being wedded to my opinion.

292 LETTERS TO

LETTER CXIX.

The Rocks, Sunday, January 22, 1690.
Good heavens, what a situation you are in ! how pressing a
one ! and how much and sensibly I am grieved at it ! But, my
child, how weak and futile are wishes upon such occasions !
and how needless it is to tell you that if I had now, as I have
had, some portable sum which depended on me, it should soon
be yours ! I am overwhelmed with a host of little creditors
who dun and threaten me, and I do not know whether I shall
be able to satisfy them, as I had hoped to do ; for I am quite
suffocated by the obligation I am under of paying immediately
5000 livres by way of fine, and the price of the estate of
Madame d'Acigne, which I have purchased, to avoid paying
10,000 if I had waited two years longer. Such, then, is my
situation ; but this is only to acquaint you with the utter im-
possibility of my assisting you. Your brother appears to me
to feel for you, and I am persuaded he would perform his duty
better than your rich prelates, if the times were as they have
been, that is, if it were possible to borrow. He will talk to you
himself, and tell you his opinion of your affairs. I have also
set forth to him the embarrassments of your little colonel ; he
mentioned the subject to me the first, some time ago, pitying
and regretting, like us, that the chevalier had not the manage-
ment of him for the first year or two ; nothing could have
been of so much service to him as such a master ; in short,
my dearest child, no one but God can confine so great a num-
ber of disagreeable things within the bounds of resignation, in
which you appear to me. To return to my son ; he had some
anxiety on seeing a stripling of seventeen or eighteen at the
head of such a troop. He remembers enough of past times to
know how difficult it is at that age to command old officers ;
and this difficulty would have been removed, if he could have
had his uncle to establish him ; this is a very disagreeable and
delicate time for him. Can not you assist him with some pru-
dent counselor, to advise him a little % For, in short, he is

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 293

alone, and can not at his age know a profession that requires
more experience than any other. I have conjured you to send
for the marquis to Grignan ; what will he do during the car-
nival at Paris and Versailles ? do you think he will acquit
himself well of the duty and compliments he has to go through ?
I perhaps do him wrong ; but he is very young, and little ac-
customed to this business ; in short, I think he has more to
perform than he is equal to. I resign the pen to my son ; I
will resume it again presently.

LETTER CXX.

The Rocks, Sunday, February 26, 1690.

I could not have believed that I should have wept so much
for La Chau ; but it is impossible to read your account of his
poor wife's unfeigned and violent affliction without being af-
fected to tears. This is, indeed, a peculiar misfortune, and a
fate which nothing could prevent. The man is in haste, he
wants to get to his journey's end ; he is advised, for very
weighty reasons, not to expose himself, or, at Jeast, not to go
into the little boat; but he will listen to no one, he must
go, he must be punctual to his appointment ; Death is waiting
for him at a particular spot upon the Rhone ; he must meet
him there, and perish. Good heavens, my dear child, how all
this is arranged ! Every one sees his own fate in this accident,
and his wife's grief becomes ours ; as we are exposed to similar
perils, it is our own interest that makes us weep, when we
suppose we are lamenting the misfortunes of others. Christian-
ity dictates to us that we should think first of this poor man's
salvation ; but his wife afterward claims our pity for the loss
of 4000 livres ; if the dead body should not float, or the vio-
lence of the Rhone should throw it beyond Aries upon some
unfrequented shore, Providence will dispose of this gold, sewed
up in his wet coat, as of the rest.

I highly approve the resolution of not sending for the mar-

294 LETTERS TO

quis, this is the surest way ; the journey would be both ex-
pensive and fatiguing, and productive of no good but the mere
gratification of your affection; bear this like many other
things, and rather wait till he is a brigadier or major-general,
than make him lose his time now. Beaulieu informs me, that
he is quite overwhelmed with business, and that he attends to
nothing else. Is it possible, that he should have visited Mad-
ame de la Fayette before Madame de Vins ? I blame him ;
I am as jealous upon this occasion as you are, for I frequently
put myself in your place ; every reason should have induced
him to have flown to Madame de Vins ; she wrote to me the
other day that she longed to see him, and to observe the dif-
ference and transition from infancy to youth. He has waited
upon Madame de Lavardin, and will have time to pay her
another visit.

M. de Grignan has resolved upon a very precipitate journey ;
it is difficult to avoid such courses, when we command singly
in a province, whether for the service of the king, or the
honor of the post. You never examine thoroughly into this
business, except for M. de Grignan ; this is natural enough ;
but the example should extend further. No enemies, my dear
child; let this be your maxim, it is equally Christian and
politic : I not only say no enemies, but also many friends ;
you have felt the good effects of these in your law-suit ; you
have a son ; you may stand in need of those who you may
now think can never be of service to you. We are deceived ;
see how Madame de la Fayette abounds with friends on every
side, and of all ranks. She has a hundred arms, and they all
serve her ; her children feel it, and thank her daily for her
courteous disposition ; an obligation which she owes to M. de
la Rochefoucault, and of which her family reaps the benefit.
I am certain that you have been of this opinion for many
years.

You explain Madame Reinie's conduct very well ; it is droll
to think of her leaving Paris, her husband, all her business,
to fly for three or four months all over Provence asking for

MADAME DE GRIGNAN. 295

money, without getting any, fatiguing herself, returning after
being at great expense, and getting the rheumatism into the
bargain! for recollect that she has pains all over her; and
such as at length have defeated you.

I am delighted at Paulina's partiality to M. Nicole ; it is a
proof that she reads him with attention; this taste gives me
the highest opinion of her understanding ; I also like her anger
that the bishops do not fight for promotion. But, my dear,
on your honor do you believe it right to give us only the first
volume of the romance of the Princess, the Infanta, or the
First Minister, so charming as we thought it I* I will not
allow you to stop here ; I insist upon knowing what is be-
come of the princess's good and just resolution ? I am afraid
it has vanished, by the necessity of the times, the want of a
minister, the sudden journey, the impossibility of collecting
the leaves of the Sibyl, idly and incautiously scattered to the
winds for ten years. In short, I fear your good intentions
will come to nothing, as I have so often found during the last
twenty years: this story, however, requires a continuation,
but it should not be too serious with regard to your affairs.
I wish also to be informed of the success of M. Prat's journey
to the enraged lover of the Princess Truelle. I should like
to know who were the confidants of the first minister and the
favorite ; and who received the couriers. Tell me if you are
still satisfied with Flame ;\ he is a very considerable person-
age in your household. I want to know some particulars re-
specting the count's journey, and if the treasurer will do as
he wishes : here are a number of questions, my dearest child,
for which I apologize. It is kind of you to love my letters ;
when you receive three at a time you say you are rich ; but
what fatigues do they not occasion you ! They are so very
long that you should not answer them minutely. Adieu, my
love ; how does Lent agree with you ? for my part I like it

* This was an account, in the form of a romance, of what passed in
M. de Grignan's family.

f M. de Grignan's house-steward.

296 LETTERS TO MADAME DE GRIGNAN.

extremely. I took a mess of milk-coffee this morning : I am
not yet surfeited with it, nor with sermons, for we read none
but those of M. le Tourneux and St. John Chrysostom. It is
delightful weather, the winter is past, and we have a prospect
of spring that is superior to spring itself.

N.B. This letter is the last from the mother to the daughter.

LETTERS TO M. DE POMPONNE.

The following Letters, relating to the trial of M. Fouquet,
were addressed to the Marquis de Pomponne, who was after-
ward Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The trial of Fouquet was not the least curious and least
interesting event of the reign of Louis XIV. The plan of
ruining him was laid with such odious art, and the conduct
of his enemies, many of whom were his judges, was so invet-
erate, that it would have been impossible not to have been
interested for him, even had he been more criminal than he
really was. Accused and tried for financial peculations, he
was sentenced to banishment for a crime against the state.
His crime was a vague plan of resistance and flight into a
foreign country, which he had thrown upon paper five years
before, when the factions of the Fronde divided France, and
when he thought he had reason to complain of the ingratitude
of Cardinal Mazarin. This plan, which he had wholly for-
gotten, was found among the papers that were seized at his
house.

It is well known that Louis XIV. was led to believe that
Fouquet was a dangerous man. A guard of fifty musketeers
were appointed to conduct him to the citadel of Pignerol, the
king having changed the sentence of banishment into perpetual
imprisonment. It was still apprehended that he had formi-
dable friends. Among these were Pelisson and Lafontaine ;
one defended him eloquently, and the other bewailed his mis-
fortunes in a very beautiful and pathetic elegy, in which h6

went so far as to ask the king to pardon him.

13*

298 LETTERS TO

LETTER I.

To-day, Monday, November the 17 th, 1664, M. Fouquet
was brought a second time before the chancellor. He seated
himself without ceremony upon the sellette,* as he had done
the first time. The chancellor began by bidding him hold up
his hand. He replied, that he had already assigned the rea-
sons which prevented him from taking the oath. The chancellor
then made a long speech to prove the legal authority of the
court, that it had been established by the king, and that the
warrants had been confirmed by the parliament.

M. Fouquet replied, that things were often done under the
name of legal authority which were found upon reflection to
be unjust.

The chancellor interrupted him : " What ! do you mean to
say that the king abuses his power ?" M. Fouquet replied,
" It is you, sir, who say it, not I ; this was not my idea, and,
in my present situation, I can not but wonder at your wishing
to implicate me still further with his majesty ; but, sir, you
yourself well know that we may be mistaken. "When you sign
a sentence, you believe it just, yet the next day you annul that
sentence ; thus you see it is possible to change our opinion."

" But," said the chancellor, " though you will not acknowl-
edge the power of the court, you answer and put interroga-
tories, and you are now upon the sellette." " It is true, I am
so," he replied, " but it is not voluntarily ; I am brought here
against my will ; it is a power I must obey, and a mortifica-
tion which God has inflicted upon me, and which I receive
from his hands ; after the services I have rendered, and the
offices I have had the honor to bear, I might have been spared
this humiliation.

The chancellor then continued the examination respecting
the pension of the gabelles, to which the replies of M. Fou-
quet were extremely satisfactory. The examination will pro-

* Stool on which a prisoner sits.

M. DE P0MP0NNE. 299

cee<i, and I shall send you a faithful account of it ; I am
anxious to know whether my letters come safely to your
hands.

Your sister, who is with our ladies at the Faubourg, has
signed ; she is now with the community, and seems perfectly
satisfied. •

Your aunt does not appear at all displeased with her ; I did
not think it was she who had taken the leap, but some other
person. You know, of course, of our defeat at Gigeri,* and as
those who formed the plan wish to throw the failure upon
those who executed it, they intend to bring Gadagne to trial.
There are some who will be satisfied with nothing less than
his head ; but the public is persuaded that he could not have
advised otherwise than he did. M. d'Aleth, who excommuni-
cated the subaltern officers of the king, who were for compel-
ling the clergy to sign, is very much talked 'of here. This
will ruin him with your father, while it will bring him into
favor with Pere Annat.f

Adieu ! The desire of gossiping has seized me, but I must
not yield to it ; the narrative style should be concise.

LETTER II.

Friday, November 20, 1664.
M. Fouquet was examined this morning respecting the gold
mark ; he answered extremely well ; several of the judges
bowed to him ; the chancellor reproved them and said that,
as he was a Breton, it was not the custom. " It is because you
are Bretons that you bow so low to M. Fouquet." In return-
ing on foot from the arsenal, M. Fouquet asked what the work-
men were doing ; he was told they were making the vase of a
fountain ; he went to them, and gave his opinion, and after-

* The first expedition against Algiers.
f A Jesuit, confessor of Louis XIY.

300 LETTERS TO

ward returned smiling to Artagan. " You wonder, no doubt,"
said he, " at my interfering, but I formerly understood these
things well." The friends of M. Fouquet, and I among the
rest, are pleased at this delightful composure ; others call it
affectation ; such is the world. Madame Fouquet, his mother,
has given the queen a plaster that has cured her convulsions,
which, properly speaking, were nothing but the vapors.

Many, believing what they wish, imagine that the queen
will, on this account, intercede with his majesty to pardon the
unfortunate prisoner ; but I, who hear a great deal of the kind-
ness of this country, do not believe a word of it. The noise
the plaster has made is wonderful ; every body says that Mad-
ame Fouquet is a saint, and has the power of working mira-
cles.

To-day, the 21st, M. Fouquet has been questioned respecting
the wax and sugar taxes. At certain objections that were
raised, and which appeared to him ridiculous, he lost his tem-
per. This was going a little too far, and there was a haughti-
ness in his manners that gave offense. He will correct him-
self; for this mode of proceeding is by no means advisable;
but patience will sometimes escape ; it seems to me as if I
should have done the same.

I have been at Sainte-Marie, where I saw your aunt, who
appeared to be swallowed up in devotion ; she was at mass,
and in quite a religious ecstasy. Your sister was looking very
pretty ; fine eyes, and great animation ; the poor child fainted
this morning ; she is very much indisposed ; her aunt is uni-
formly kind to her. M. de Paris has given her a sort of de-
feasance, which gained her heart, and induced her to sign the
wicked formulary.* I have not mentioned the subject to either
of them ; M. de Parisf has forbidden it. But I must give you

* This relates to the condemnation of the five propositions of Jan-
senius ; the clergy of France protested against them, and drew up a
formulary, which the nuns of Port Royal and many others refused to
sign ; this refusal, in the end, caused their dispersion.

f The then archbishop of Paris was the sage Perefixe.

M. DE POMPONNE. 301

an idea of prejudice ; our sisters of Sainte-Marie said to me,
'' God be praised, who has at length touched the heart of this
poor child ! she is now in the way of obedience and salvation."
From thence I went to Port Royal, where I found a certain
great recluse* of your acquaintance, who accosted me with,
u Well, this silly goose has signed ; God, in short, has aban-
doned her ; she is lost." I thought I should have died with
laughing, when I reflected on the different effects of prejudice ;
(n this, you see the world in its true mirror. I think extremes
ihould always be avoided.

Saturday evening. M. Fouquet entered the chamber this
morning, and was interrogated upon the subject of grants ; he
was attacked weakly and defended himself ably. Between
you and me, this is not the worst part of the business. Some
good angel must have informed him that he had carried him-
self too proudly ; for he altered his manner to-day, and the
judges altered theirs, by not bowing to him. The examina-
tion will not be resumed till Wednesday ; and I shall not
write to you till then. I have only to add, that if you con-
tinue to pity me so much, for the trouble I take in writing to
you, and desire me not to go on, I shall think my letters tire
you, and that you do not like the fatigue of answering them ;
but I promise not to write such long ones in future, and I ab-
solve you from answering them, though I prize your letters
highly. After these declarations, I should think you would
not attempt to interrupt the course of my gazettes. In flat-
tering myself that I contribute a little to your pleasure, I add
greatly to my own. I have so few opportunities of proving
my friendship and esteem for you, that I must not neglect such
as present themselves. Pray make my compliments to your
family and your neighbors. The queen is much better.

* No doubt the celebrated Doctor Arnauld d'Andillv.

302 LETTERS TO

LETTER III.

Monday, November 24, 1664.
If I know my own heart, it is I who am the party obliged,
by your receiving so kindly the information I send you. Do
you think I have no pleasure in writing to you ? Believe me,
I have a great deal, and am as much gratified in writing, as
you can be in reading what I write. The sentiments you en-
tertain upon the subject of my letter are very natural ; hope is
common to us all, without our knowing why ; but it supports
the heart. J dined at Sainte-Marie de Sainte-Antoine two
days ago ; the lady abbess related to me the particulars of
four visits she has received from Puis * * *,* within the last
three months, at which I am very much astonished. He came
to tell her that the now blessed Bishop of Geneva (Frangois de
Sales) had been so extremely kind to him during his illness
last summer, that he could not help feeling most strongly the
obligations he owed him ; and he requested her to obtain the
prayers of the community for the deceased. He gave her, for
the accomplishment of his holy purpose, a thousand crowns,
and entreated her to show him the bishop's heart. When he
was at the grate, he fell upon his knees, and remained full a
quarter of an hour, bathed in tears, apostrophizing this heart,
and praying for a spark of the divine fire which had consumed
it. The lady abbess also melted into tears ; and gave him the
relics of the deceased, with which he hurried away. During
these visits, he appeared so earnest about his salvation, so dis-
gusted with the court, so transported with the idea of his con-
version, that a person more clear-sighted than the abbess would
have been deceived. She contrived to introduce the subject of
Fouquet ; he answered her as a man who was interested in
nothing but religion; that he was not sufficiently known;
that justice would be done him, agreeably to the will of God,

* This name appears to be altered, and ought, as will be seen further
on, to be Puissort.

M. DE POMPONNE. 303

if from no other consideration. I never was more surprised
than at this conversation. If you ask me what I think of it, I
must answer, that I do not know ; that it is perfectly unintel-
ligible to me ; that I can not see the drift of this comedy, nor,
if it is not a comedy, how the steps he has since taken are to
be reconciled with his fine speeches.

Time must explain all this, for it is at present perfectly
enigmatical. Do not mention it, for the lady abbess desired
me not to make the circumstance known.

I have seen M. Fouquet's mother. She told me she had
sent the plaster to the queen by Madame de Charost.* The
effect was certainly wonderful : in less than an hour the queen
felt her head relieved, and so great a discharge of offensive
matter took place, that had it remained it might have suffo-
cated her in the next fit. The queen said aloud that it was
this matter which had occasioned the convulsions of the pre-
ceding night, and that Madame de Fouquet had cured her.
The queen-mother thought the same, and said so to the king,
who did not attend to her. The physicians, who had not
been consulted in applying the plaster, withheld their senti-
ments on the subject, but made their court at the expense of
truth. The same day, these poor women threw themselves at
the feet of the king, who took no notice of them. Every body
is acquainted with the circumstance of the cure ; but no one
knows what will come of it : we must wait the event with pa-
tience.

M. Fouquet was interrogated again this morning, but the
chancellor's manner was changed; it seems as if he were
ashamed of receiving his lesson every day from Boucherat.f
He told the reporter to read the article, upon which he wished
to examine the accused ; and the reading lasted so long, that
it was half-past ten o'clock before it was finished. He then

* Fouquet's daughter. „

f Boucherat, then master of requests, and afterward chancellor, had
been appointed to put the seals on the papers of the superintendent.
He was on the commission charged with the prosecution.

304 LETTERS TO

said, " Let Fouquet be brought in ;" but corrected himself im
mediately by saying " M. Fouquet ;" as, however, he had not
directed the prisoner to be sent for, he was still at the Bastille.
A messenger was then dispatched for him, and he arrived at
eleven o'clock. He was questioned respecting the grants,
and answered extremely well ; but he was a little at a loss as
to certain dates, which would have injured him considerably,
if the examiner had been skillful and awake ; but, instead of
this, the chancellor was asleep. This was observed by M.
Fouquet, who would have laughed heartily, if he had dared.
At length the chancellor roused himself, and continued the
examination ; and though M. Fouquet rested too much on a
prop that might have failed him, the event proved that he
knew what he was about ; for, in his misfortune, he has cer-
tain little advantages that belong exclusively to himself. If
they go on slowly every day, the trial will last a long time.

I shall write to you every evening ; but I shall not send my
letter till Saturday or Sunday evening : it will give you an
account of the proceedings of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday,
and I will contrive that you shall receive one on Thursday,
informing you of the proceedings of Monday, Tuesday, and
Wednesday : in this way your letters will not be long de-
tained. I beg my compliments to your recluse, and to your
better half. I say nothing of your dear neighbor ; it will soon
be my turn to give you news of her myself.

LETTER IV.

Thursday, November 2Y, 1664.
The examination upon the subject of the grants was re-
sumed to-day. The chancellor kindly endeavored to drive
M. Fouquet to extremities, and to embarrass him, but he did
not succeed. M. Fouquet acquitted himself admirably ; he
did not come into the chamber of justice till eleven o'clock,
because the chancellor made the reporter read as before ; but

M. DE POMPONNE 305

in spite of this parade of justice, he said the worst he could
of our poor friend. The reporter* always took his part, be-
cause the chancellor evidently leaned to the other side of the
question. At last he said, " Here is a charge to which the
accused will not be able to answer." " And here, sir," said
the reporter, " is a plaster that will cure the weakness ;" he
made an excellent justification of him, and then added : " In
the place in which I stand, sir, I shall always speak the truth,
in whatever form it presents itself to me."

This allusion to a plaster called forth a smile from the au-
dience, as it reminded them of the one that has lately made
so much noise at court. The accused was then brought in ;
he only remained an hour in court ; and, on his leaving it,
M. d'Ormesson was complimented by several persons upon his
firmness.

I must relate to you what I myself did. Some ladies pro-
posed to me to accompany them to a house exactly op-
posite the arsenal, where we could see the return of our poor
friend. I was masked,f but my eye caught him the moment
he was in view. M. d'Artagan was at his side, and fifty
mousquetaires about thirty or forty steps behind him. He
appeared thoughtful. The moment I saw him my legs
trembled, and my heart beat so violently that I could scarcely
support myself. In approaching us to re-enter his dungeon,
M. d'Artagan pointed out to him that we were there, and
he saluted us with the same delightful smile you have so
often witnessed. I do not believe he recognized me ; but I
own I was strangely affected when I saw him enter the little
door. If you knew the misfortune of having a heart like

* The reporter was M. d'Ormesson, one of the most respectable mag-
istrates of his time.

f It was still the custom for ladies to wear masks when they went
abroad; a custom which is retained in Corneille's plays, and which was
brought from Italy by the Medicis, with many other customs equally
disagreeable. These masks of black velvet, to which the hups sue*
ceeded, were intended as a preservative to the complexion.

306

LETTERS TO

mine, I am sure you would pity me ; but from what I know
of you, I do not think you have much the advantage of me
in this point. I have been to see your dear neighbor. I pity
you as much at losing her as I rejoice at her being with us.
We have had a good deal of conversation upon the subject
of our poor friend ; she has seen Sappho,* who has consider-
ably raised her spirits. I shall go there to-morrow, to recruit
my own ; for I often feel the want of consolation ; it is not
that I do not hear a thousand things, that should inspire
hope ; but alas ! my imagination is so lively, that every
thing which is uncertain destroys me.

Friday, November 28.
The court opened early this morning. The chancellor said
he had now to speak of the four loans : D'Ormesson observed,
that it was a very unimportant affair, and one upon which no
blame could be attached to M. Fouquet, as he had declared
from the beginning. An attempt was made to contradict
him : he begged leave to explain the matter according to his
own view of it, and desired his colleagues to listen to him.
The court was attentive, and he convinced them that it was
a very trifling business. The accused was then ordered to be
brought in > it was eleven o'clock. You will remark that he
has never been more than an hour upon the sellette. The
chancellor still wished to speak of the loans. M. Fouquet
requested he might be allowed to state what he had omitted
the day before, respecting the grants ; leave was given him,
and he said wonders. The chancellor asked him, " Have you
had your acquittance for the employment of this sum ?" He
replied that he had, but that it was conjointly with other
things which he had marked, and which will come in their
course. "But," said the chancellor, "at the time you re-
ceived these acquittances you had not incurred the expenses f
" True," replied M. Fouquet, " but the sums were set apart

* Mademoiselle Seudery, sister of the author, known under this
name by an unfortunate fertility of imagination ; a woman who had
more wit than her writings display, though they display a great deal.

M. DE POMPONNE. 307

for the purpose." " This is not enough," said the chancellor.
" Pardon me, sir," said M. Fouquet ; " when I gave you your
appointments, for instance, I sometimes received the acquit-
tance a month beforehand, and as the sum was set apart, it
was exactly the same as if it had been paid." u That is true,"
said the chancellor ; " I was much indebted to you." M.
Fouquet replied that he had no intention to reproach him,
and that he was at that time happ^ to serve him ; but the cir-
cumstance had occurred to his mind, as an instance in point,
and he could not help making use of it.

The court has closed till Monday. They seem determined
to prolong the affair as much as possible. Puis*** has prom-
ised to give the accused as few opportunities of speaking as
he can. The fact is, they are afraid of him. They would,
therefore, interrogate him summarily, and even pass over some
of the articles ; but he is determined they shall not do this,
nor will he suffer them to judge his cause without his being
permitted to justify himself upon every separate head of accu-
sation. Puis*** is in continual apprehension of offending
Petit. He excused himself the other day by saying that
M. Fouquet had certainly spoken too long, but that he
had no means of interrupting him. Ch*** is constantly be-
hind the screen whenever the examinations take place ; he
hears all that is said, and offers to go to the judges and explain
the reasons by which he is led to draw such opposite conclu-
sions. All this is irregular, and shows a great inveteracy
against the unfortunate prisoner. I own I have no longer any
hope. Adieu, sir, till Monday. I wish you could see my
heart, you would then be convinced of the sincerity of a friend-
ship which you profess to prize.

LETTER V.

Two days ago every one believed that it was intended to
protract M. Fouquet's affair as much as possible ; but now the

308 LETTERS TO

reverse of this appears to be the case, and the interrogations
are hurried over in a most extraordinary manner. This morn-
ing the chancellor took his paper and read; as he would an in-
ventory, ten heads of accusation, without giving the accused
time to reply. M. Fouquet said, " I do not wish, sir, to pro-
long the business, but I entreat you to give me time to answer
the charges that are brought against me. You question me,
and it appears as if you did not wish me to reply ; but it is
of consequence to me to speak. There are many articles I
must explain ; and it is but justice that I should answer to all
those which are formally alleged against me." The court was
then obliged to attend, contrary to the wishes of the ill-dis-
posed, who could not bear to hear him defend himself so ably.
He answered extremely well to every accusation. The trial
will now go on, but will be conducted so rapidly that I expect
the examination will close this week. I have just been sup-
ping at the Hotel de Nevers ; the mistress of the house and I
conversed a good deal upon this subject. We are uneasy to a
degree, which you only can comprehend, for I bave just re-
ceived your letter ; it surpasses even my own feelings upon the
subject. You put my modesty to too great a trial in asking
me upon what terms I am with you and your dear recluse. It
seems to me that I see him and hear him say what you tell
me. I am quite piqued that it was not I who metamorphosed
Pierrot to Tartuffe ;* it was so natural that if I had half the
wit you ascribe to me, it would have flowed mechanically from
my pen.

I must relate to you a little anecdote, which is perfectly true,
and which can not fail to amuse you. The king has lately
employed himself in making verses ; Messieurs de Saint Aignan
and Dangeau put him in the way of it. He wrote a little
madrigal the other day with which he was not much pleased.
One morning he said to Marshal de Grammont, " M. le mare-
chal, read this little madrigal, if you please, and tell me if you
ever saw so silly a one ; because it is known that I have lately

* The Chancellor Seguier's name was Pierre.

M. DE P0MP0NNE. 309

been fond of poetry they bring me all the nonsense that is
written." The marshal having read it, said to the king, " Your
majesty is an excellent judge of every thing : this is certainly
without exception the most silly and ridiculous madrigal I ever
read." The king laughed, and continued, " Must not the writer
be a great fool ?" " There is no other name for him," said the
marshal. " O !" said the king, " how delighted I am that you
have spoken your sentiments so freely ! I am myself the author
of it." " Ah ! sire, what treason have I uttered ! I entreat
your majesty to give it me again. I read it hastily." " No,
M. le marechal ; the first sentiments are always the most na-
tural." The king was very much entertained at this little
frolic ; but those about him thought it the most cruel thing
that could be done to an old courtier. For myself, I love to
make reflections, and I wish the king would reflect in like
manner on this adventure, that he might see how far he is
from knowing the truth. We are upon the point of experien-
cing a still more painful instance of royal delusion, in the re-
purchase of our rents, at an expense that will send us all to
the workhouse. The emotion it occasions is great, but the
hardship is greater. Do you not think this is undertaking too
much at once ? The loss of a part of my income is not the
point that affects me the most.

Tuesday, December 2.

Our dear unfortunate friend spoke for two hours this morn-
ing, but so uncommonly well that several persons could not
help expressing their admiration. Among others, M. de Re-
nard said, " This man, it must be owned, is incomparable ; he
never spoke so well in the parliament ; he maintains his self-
possession better than he has ever done." The subject was the
six millions, and his own expenses. Nothing could exceed
what he said. I shall write to you on Thursday and on Fri-
day ; these will be the last days of the examination, and I
shall go on to the end.

God grant my last letter may contain the information I so

21Q LETTERS TO

ardently wish. Adieu, my dear sir ; desire our recluse (Ar-
nauld) to pray for our poor friend. I heartily embrace you
both, and, for modesty's sake, I include your wife.

IN CONTINUATION.

Tranquillity reigns throughout the family of the unfortu-
nate Fouquet. It is said that M. de Nesmond declared on
his death-bed, that his greatest sorrow was that he had not
excepted to these two judges ; that if he had lived to the end
of the trial he would have repaired his fault, and that he
prayed God to pardon his error.

M. Fouquet, as I observed before, spoke to-day two com-
plete hours, upon the subject of the six millions ; he command-
ed attention, and performed wonders. Every one was affected
in his way. Puissort made gestures of disbelief and disappro-
bation, that shocked every honest man in court.

When M. Fouquet had done, M. Puissort rose impetuously,
and said, "Thank God* it can never be said that he has not
had his bellyful of speaking." What say you to this speech ?
Was it not worthy of a judge ? It is said that the chancel-
lor is very much alarmed at the erysipelas that occasioned the
death of M. de Nesmond, fearing there may be a repetition
of the judgment in store for himself. If the apprehension
could inspire him with the sentiments of a man about to ap-
pear before God, it would be something ; but it will be said of
him, I fear, as of Argante, e mori come visse ;* he died as he
lived.

"Wednesday, December 3.
I have received your letter ; it has proved to me that I
have not obliged a person who is ungrateful ; nothing can be
more kind, nothing more gratifying. I must be wholly ex-
empt from vanity to be insensible to such praises. I assure
you, I am delighted at the good opinion, you entertain of my

* Gerusalemme Liberata, canto 19 ; the verse runs thus:
Moriva Argante, e tal moria qual visse.

M. DE POMPONNE. 311

heart, and I further assure you, without meaning compliment
for compliment, that my esteem for you infinitely surpasses
the power of ordinary language to express, and that I experi-
ence real pleasure and consolation in being able to inform
you of events in which we are both so much interested. I
am very glad your dear recluse takes her part in them ; I sup-
posed you would make them known also to your incompara-
ble neighbor. You gratify me extremely in telling me that I
have made some progress in her heart ; there is no one in
whose affections I would more gladly establish myself, and
when I would indulge in a little gayety, I think of her and
her enchanted palace. But I return to business, from which I
have been insensibly led, to tell you of the sentiments I enter-
tain for yourself and your amiable friend.

M. Fouquet was upon the selette again to-day. The Abbe
d'Effiat bowed to him, as he passed. In returning his bow,
he said to him, with the same enchanting smile we have so
often observed, " Sir, I am your very humble servant." The
abbe was so much affected that he could not speak.

As soon as M. 'Fouquet was in tht; chamber, the chancel-
lor desired him to be seated. He replied, " Sir, you took ad-
vantage, yesterday, of my placing myself upon the sellette :
you infer from my doing so that I acknowledge the authority
of the court ; as that is the case, I beg leave to stand." The
chancellor then told him he might withdraw. M. Fouquet re-
plied, " I do not mean by this to advance any new objection ;
I only wish to make my protestation, as usual, and, the charge
being cited against me, to be permitted to reply."

This was agreed to. He then seated himself, and the ex-
amination respecting the pension of the gabelles was resumed,
to which he replied admirably. If this mode continue, the
interrogations will be favorable to him. The spirit and firm-
ness he displays are the subject of general conversation at
Paris. He has asked one thing of a friend which makes me
tremble : he has entreated him to let him know his sentence,
whether favorable or otherwise, in some private way, by sig-

312 LETTERS TO

nal, the instant it is pronounced, that he may have time to
reconcile himself to his fate before it be announced to him
officially ; adding, that if he has half an hour to prepare him-
self, he shall hear without emotion the worst that can be told
him. This has made me weep, and I am certain it will affect
you also very painfully.

There were few persons at the examination, on account of
the queen's illness ; she was supposed to be dying, but is now
somewhat better. Yesterday evening she received the viati-
cum. It was the most affecting and solemn spectacle that
can be imagined, to see the king and the whole court going
for the holy sacrament, and conducting it to the palace. It
was received with a profusion of lights. The queen made an
effort to rise, and took it with a devotion that reduced every
one to tears. It was not without difficulty that she had
been brought to consent ; the king was the only one who
could make her listen to reason ; to every other person she
said that she was very willing to receive the communion, but
not the viaticum ; it was full two hours before she could be
prevailed upon.

The general approbation that is given to M. Fouquet's an-
swers, is very grating to Petit* It is. even thought he will
engage Puis*** to feign illness, in order to interrupt the tor-
rent of admiration, and to have time himself to take breath at

* Petit is a feigned name, meant either for Le Tellier or Colbert*
With regard to Puis***, as, from the sense of the expressions, he must
be one of the judges against Fouquet, there is little doubt that Puissort
is the person alluded to ; and what is said of him in the preceding Let-
ters must be so understood.

It may further be remarked that the conduct of Colbert and Le Tel-
lier, in this business, was extremely well characterized by a criticism
of the great Turenne, who interested himself warmly for Fouquet. To
some one who blamed the violence of Colbert, and praised the modera-
tion of Le Tellier, Turenne replied, " True, sir; M. Colbert has most
desire that he should be hanged, and M. Le Tellier most fear lest he
should not be."

M. DE POMPONNE. 313

this, and other instances of his ill success. I am the most
obedient servant of the dear recluse, of your lady, and the
adorable Amalthee.

LETTER VL

Thursday, December 4, 1664.
At length the examinations are over. M. Fouquet entered
the chamber this morning. The chancellor ordered his pro-
ject against the state to be read throughout. M. Fouquet
spoke first upon the subject. " I believe, sir," said he, u you
can derive nothing from this paper, but the effect it has just
produced, of overwhelming me with confusion." The chan-
cellor replied, " You have yourself heard and seen by it that
your regard for the state, which you have so much insisted
upon in court, was not so considerable but that you would
have embroiled it from one end to the other." " Sir," replied
M. Fouquet, " this idea occurred to me only in the height of
the despair in which the cardinal often placed me ; especially
when, after contributing more than any man in the world to
his return to France, I found myself repaid by the basest in-
gratitude. I had a letter from himself, and one from the
queen-mother, in proof of what I say ; but they have been
taken away with my papers, as have several letters. It is to
be lamented that I did not burn this unfortunate paper which
had so completely escaped my mind and my memory that I
have been nearly two years without thinking of it or knowing
even that it existed. However this affair may terminate, I disown
it with my whole heart, and I entreat you, sir, to believe, that
my regard for the person and the service of the king has never
been in the slightest degree diminished." " It is very difficult
to believe this," said the chancellor, " when we see such con-
trary sentiments expressed at a different period." M. Fouquet
replied, u At no period, sir, even though at the hazard of my

life, have I ever abandoned the king's person ; and at the time

14

314 LETTERS TO

in question, you, sir, were at the head of the council of his
enemies, and your relations gave free passage to the army
against him."

The chancellor felt this stroke ; but our poor friend was irri-
tated, and therefore not quite master of himself. The subject
of his expenses was afterward introduced. "I undertake,"
said he, " to prove that I have not incurred a single expense
which, either by means of my private income, with which the
cardinal was well acquainted, or my appointments, or my
wife's fortune, I was not able to afford ; and if I do not prove
this satisfactorily, I consent to be treated with the utmost igno-
miny." In short, this interrogation lasted two hours; M.
Fouquet defended himself ably, but with a degree of warmth
and petulance ; the reading of the project having ruffled him
exceedingly.

When he had left the court, the chancellor said, " This is
the last time we shall interrogate him." M. Poncet then went
up to the chancellor, and said, " You have made no mention,
sir, of the proofs there are that he had attempted to put his
project against the state into execution." The chancellor re-
plied, " They are not, sir, sufficiently strong ; he would have
refuted them too easily." Upon which Saint Helene and
Puissort said, " Every one is not of that opinion." This is a
subject to muse upon. The rest to-morrow.

Friday, December 5.
This morning the subject of the requests was mentioned,
which are of little importance except that there are persons,
not ill disposed, who wish the sentence to refer to them. The
business on the side of the prosecution is at an end. It is now
M. d'Ormesson's turn to speak ; he is to recapitulate the sev-
eral matters. This will occupy the whole of the next week,
during which the time we shall pass can scarcely be called
living. For myself, you would hardly know me, and I do not
think I can hold out so long. M. d'Ormesson has desired me
not to see him again till the business is over : he is in the con-

M. DE POMPONNE. 815

clave, and will have intercourse with no one. He affects great
reserve ; he listens to me, but does not answer. I had the
pleasure, in bidding him adieu, to acquaint him with my sen-
timents. I will inform you of all I hear. God grant my last
tidings may be good ; I desire it fervently. I assure you we
are all very much to be pitied. I mean you and I, and all
who, like ourselves, are interested in the event. Adieu, my
dear sir : I am so dull this evening, and my heart is so much
oppressed that I must conclude.

LETTER VII.

Tuesday, December 9, 1664.
1 assure you the days pass very tediously ; suspense is ex-
tremely painful : but it is an evil to which the whole family
of the unfortunate prisoner is habituated. I have seen, and
can not sufficiently express my admiration of them. It seems
as if they had never known, never read, the events that have
taken place in former times. What surprises me most is, that
Sappho is just like the rest ; she, whose understanding and
penetration are unlimited. When I reflect upon this circum-
stance, I persuade myself, or, at least, I wish to persuade my-
self, that they know more of the matter than I do. When I
reason too with others, on whose judgment I can rely, and
who are less prejudiced, because less interested, I find all our
measures so just that it will be really a miracle if the business
does not terminate according to our wishes. We are some-
times only lost by a single voice, but that voice is every thing.
I remember, however, the recusations, respecting which these
poor women thought themselves so sure, and we lost them by
five to seventeen ; since that time their confidence has been
my distrust. Yet I have a little spark of hope in my heart ;
I hardly know from whence it comes, nor whither it would
lead, nor is it sufficient to make me sleep in peace. I talked
over this affair yesterday with Madame du Plessis ;* I can see
* Madame du Plessis Belliere, the intimate friend of Fouquet. He

SI 6 LETTERS TO

nobody, but those who will converse with me on the subject,
and who are of the same opinion as myself. She hopes, as I
do, without knowing the reason. " Why do you hope ?" " Be-
cause I do ;" this is our answer ; a notable one, it must be
confessed, I told her, with the greatest sincerity in the world,
that if the sentence should be in conformity to our wishes, the
height of my joy would be to dispatch instantly a man on
horseback with the pleasing intelligence to you ; and that the
pleasure of picturing the delight I should give you, would ren-
der my own delight complete. She perfectly agreed with me ;
and our imagination gave us more than a quarter of an hour's
holiday on the occasion. I must correct my last day's report
of the examination respecting the project against the state. I
related it to you exactly as I heard it ; but the same person
has since tasked his memory, and told it to me over again
more accurately. Every body has heard it from the different
judges. After M. Fouquet had said that the only effect that
could be drawn from this project was the confusion the read-
ing it had occasioned him, the chancellor observed, " You can
not deny that this is a crime against the state." " I confess,
sir," he replied, " that it is a foolish and extravagant thing, but
not a crime against the state. I entreat you, gentlemen," said
he, turning toward the judges, " to suffer me to explain what
constitutes a state crime ; not that I consider you less capable
of defining it than myself, but I have had more time perhaps
than you to examine the question. A crime against the state,
is when a person, holding an important office, and being in
the secrets of a prince, suddenly goes over to the side of his
enemy, engages his whole family in the same interests, opens
the gates of a city, of which he is the governor, to the foe,
shuts them against his lawful sovereign, and reveals to his
enemy the secrets of the state. This, gentlemen, is what is
called a state crime." The chancellor did not know which way

had commissioned her to take his papers from his house at St. Mande.
She was not in due time to execute it. She was at first exiled, and
afterward recalled. She died in 1705. aged 100 years.

M. DE POMPONNE, 31*5

to look, and the judges could scarcely refrain from laughter.
This is the truth without any embellishment. You will agree
with me, that nothing could be more spirited, more delicate in
its satire, and at the same time more diverting.

The whole kingdom knows and admires the prisoner's reply
on this occasion. He afterward entered minutely into his de-
fense, and said what I told you before. I should have been
quite unhappy if you had not known this circumstance, and
our dear friend would have lost much by it. This morning M.
d'Ormesson began the recapitulation. He spoke well and
clearly. On Thursday he will give his opinion ; his colleague
will then speak for two days ; it will take several more for the
rest to give their opinions. Some of the judges say that they
shall enlarge a great deal upon the subject, so that we have to
languish in expectation till next week. In this state of sus-
pense we can scarcely be said to live.

"Wednesday, December 10.
M. d'Ormesson has continued the recapitulation ; he has
done wonders, that is, he has spoken with extraordinary clear-
ness, intelligence, and ability. Puissort interrupted him five or
six times, with no other intention than to embarrass him, and
prevent his speaking so well : he said to him in one instance,
where his argument went strongly in favor of M. Fouquet,
" Sir, we shall speak after you, we shall speak after you."

LETTER VHI.

Thursday, December 11, 1664.
M. d'Ormesson has not yet finished. When he came to the
article of the gold mark, Puissort said, " This speaks strongly
against the accused." " It may be so," said M. d'Ormesson,
but there are no proofs." u What !" said Puissort, " have not
the two officers been examined V " No," replied M. d'Ormes-
son. " It can not be," said Puissort " I can find no such

o

18 LETTERS TO

thing in the proceedings," said M. d'Ormesson. Upon this,
Puissort rose in a fury, and said, " Sir, you ought rather to say,
I find here a very gross omission." M. d'Ormesson made no
answer, but if Puissort had addressed another word to him, he
would have replied, " I am here, sir, as a judge, and not as an
informer." You may remember what I once said to you at
Fresne, that M. d'Ormesson would not discover the omission
till there was no remedy. The chancellor also interrupted M.
d'Ormesson several times ; he told him it was not necessary to
speak of the project. This must be from malice ; for many
will suppose it a great crime, and the chancellor would be glad
that the proofs, which are truly ridiculous, should be with-
held, that the idea which prevails might not be weakened. As,
however, it is one of the articles of the indictment, M. d'Or-
messon will not omit it. He will finish to-morrow. Sainte-
Helene will speak on Saturday. On Monday the two reporters
will give their opinion, and on Tuesday, the whole committee
will assemble early in the .morning, and not separate till judg-
ment be passed. I tremble when I think of this day. The
hopes of the family are very sanguine. Faucault goes about
every where, and shows a writing of the king's, in which he is
made to say that he should think it very improper if any of
the judges leaned toward the prisoner, from the circumstance
of his papers being taken away ; that it was he who ordered
it to be done ; that there is not one that can be of use to the
prisoner in his defense ; that they are papers that relate merely
to his office ; and that he makes this known that the judges
may not draw improper inferences. What say you to this
magnanimous proceeding ? Are you not grieved that a prince,
who would love justice and truth if he were left to himself,
should be prevailed upon to act thus ? He said the other day
at his levee, that Fouquet was a dangerous man ; this has been
put into his head by some one. In short, our enemies no
longer keep within bounds ; they run at full speed ; threats,
promises, every thing is resorted to ; but if God be on our side,
we shall be stronger than they. You will perhaps have an-

M. DE POMPONNE. 319

other letter from me ; if we have good news, I shall dispatch
an express to you, with all possible expedition ; but how I
shall act, or what will become of me, in any other case, I am
at a loss to conjecture. A thousand compliments to our re-
cluse, and to your better half. Pray earnestly to God for our
fcvend.

Saturday, December, 13.
After having fixed and changed, and fixed and changed
again, it was at length resolved that M. d'Ormesson should
give his opinion to-day ; that Sunday might pass over, and
Sainte-Helene begin anew on Monday, which would make a
stronger impression. M. d'Ormesson's opinion was, that the
accused should be sentenced to perpetual banishment, and his
property confiscated to the king. M. d'Ormesson has by this
means established his reputation as a judge, 'the sentence is a
little severe,* but let us pray that no worse counsel may be
given ; it is always glorious to be the first in an assault.

LETTER IX.

"Wednesday, December IT, 1664.
You languish, my dear friend, after intelligence, and so do
we. I was sorry I sent you word that judgment would be pro-
nounced on Tuesday ; for, not hearing from me, you must have
thought it was all over ; but our hopes are as strong as ever.
I informed you, on Saturday, in what way M. d'Ormesson had
reported the cause, and how he had voted, but I did riot suf-
ficiently express the extraordinary esteem he has acquired by
his conduct in this business. I have heard several of this pro-
fession say that his speech was a master-piece ; that he ex-

* Severe as it was, the king aggravated the punishment still more.
Fouquet's dilapidations were certainly criminal, but Cardinal Mazarin
gave less and took much more. The licentiousness of the times, and
the force of example, were an excuse, if any excuse could be made.

g20 LETTERS TO

plained himself with great clearness, and rested his opinion
upon the most convincing arguments : it was eloquence and
grace combined. In short, no man had ever a finer op-
portunity of making himself known, and no man ever made a
better use of it. If he had wished to open his door to con-
gratulations, his house would have been crowded ; but he was
too modest for this, and kept out of the way. His colleague,
Sainte-Helene, indignant at his success, spoke on Monday and
Tuesday. He resumed the affair weakly and miserably, read-
ing what he had to say, without adding any new circumstance
or giving a different turn to it. He voted, but did not assign
his reasons, that M. Fouquet should lose his head for his crime
against the state ; and to gain votes on his side, he played the
Normand, and alleged that it was probable the king, who
alone could do it, would remit the sentence and pardon him,
It was yesterday he performed this brilliant action, at which
we were as much grieved as we had before been satisfied with
the conduct of M. d'Ormesson.

This morning Puissort spoke for four hours, but with so
much vehemence, fury, rage, and rancor, that several of the
judges were shocked ; and it is thought his intemperance will
do more good than harm to our poor friend. He even re-
doubled his violence toward the end, and said, upon the sub-
ject of the crime against the state, that the example of a cer-
tain Spaniard, who had so great a horror for a rebel that he
ordered his house to be burned, because Charles of Bourbon
had passed through it, ought to make us blush at our moder-
ation ; that we had much greater reason to hold in abhorrence
the crime of M. Fouquet ; that the halter and the gibbet were
the only proper punishments for him ; but that, in considera-
tion of the high offices he had held, and the noble families to
which he was related, he would relax his opinion, and vote with
M. de Sainte-Helene, that he be beheaded.

What say you to this moderation ? Is it because he is the
uncle of M. de Nesmond, and was excepted against, that he
conducts himself so generously ? For my part, I can scarcely

M. DE POMPONNE. 321

contain myself when I think of this scandalous proceeding. I
do not know whether judgment will be pronounced to-morrow,
or the business be protracted to the end of the week. We
have still many difficulties to encounter : but perhaps some
one will side with M. d'Ormesson, whose opinion at present
stands alone.

But I have to beg your attention to two or three little inci-
dents, which are no less extraordinary than true. In the first
place, then, a comet made its appearance about four days ago.
It was announced, at first, by some women only, who were
laughed at for their pains ; but it has now been seen by every
one. M. d'Artagan sat up last night, and saw it very distinctly.
M. de Neure, a great astronomer, says it is of considerable
magnitude. M. du Foin has seen it, with three or four other
learned men. I have not seen it myself, but I intend sitting
up to-night for the purpose : it appears about three o'clock. I
tell you of this, ignorant whether you will be pleased or dis-
pleased with the intelligence.

Berrier, in the literal sense of the word, is become mad ; he
has been bled profusely, and is in a perfect frenzy. He raves
of wheels and gibbets, and has even mentioned particular
trees ; he declares he is going to be hanged, and makes so
dreadful a noise that his keepers are obliged to chain him.
This is evidently a judgment of Providence, and a very just one,
A criminal of the name of Lamothe, who was in prison and
about to be tried, has deposed that Messrs. de B***,* C***,
and B*** (they add also Puissort, or Poncet, but of him I
am not so certain) urged him several times to implicate M.
Fouquet and Lorme, promising if he would do so that they
would obtain his pardon ; but he refused, and published the
circumstance in court, before his trial took place. He was
condemned to the galleys. The wife and mother of M. Fou-
quet have procured a copy of the deposition, and will present
it to-morrow at the chamber. Perhaps it will not be received,

* M. de Boucherat was one of the commissioners : the other, B***,

is, no doubt, Berrier.

14*

322 LETTERS TO

because the judges are now giving their opinions ; but it may
"be made known, and must produce a strong impression on the
court. Is not all this very extraordinary ?

I must tell you, also, of a heroic act of Masnau. He had
been dangerously ill, for a whole week, of a bladder com-
plaint ; he took a variety of medicines, and was at last bled,
at midnight. The next morning, at seven o'clock, he insisted
on being carried to the chamber of justice, where he suffered
the most excruciating pain. The chancellor saw him turn
pale, and said, " This is not a fit place for you, sir ; you had
better retire." " True, sir," he replied, " but I may as well
die here." The chancellor perceiving him ready to faint, and
finding him bent upon remaining, said, " Well, sir, retire ; we
will wait for you." Upon this he went out for a quarter of an
hour, during which time he passed two stones, of so enormous
a size, that it might be considered as a miracle, if men were
deserving that God should work miracles in their favor. This
worthy man then returned into court, gay and cheerful, every
one astonished at the adventure.

This is all I know. Every body is interested in this
weighty affair. Nothing else is talked of. Men reason, infer,
calculate, pity, fear, wish, hate, admire, are overwhelmed ; in
short, my dear sir, our present situation is a most singular
one ; but the resignation and firmness of our dear unfortu
nate friend is perfectly heavenly. He knows every day what
passes, and every day volumes might be written in his praise.
1 beg you to thank your father* for the gratifying note he
has written me, and the charming works he sent me. I have
read them, though my head feels, alas, as if it were split into
pieces. Tell him I am delighted he loves me a little— a
great deal, I mean — and that I love him still more. I have
received your last letter ; alas ! you overpay so abundantly
the trifling services I render you, that I remain your debtor.

* Arnaud d'Andilly, the translator of Josephus.

M. DE POMPONNE. 823

LETTER X.

Friday, December 19, 1664.
This is a day which gives us great hopes ; but I must go
back in my story. I told you that M. Puissort had, on
Wednesday, voted for the death of our friend ; on Thursday,
Nogues, Gisaucourt, Feriol, and Peraut, voted in the same
way. Roquesante concluded the day, and, after speaking
well for an hour, sided with M. d'Ormesson. This morning
our hopes have sailed before the wind, for several votes that
were doubtful have been given : Toison, Masnau, Verdier, La
Baume, and Catinet, and all in favor of M. d'Ormesson's opin-
ion.* It was then Poncet's turn to speak ; but, thiuking that
those who remained were almost all disposed to be lenient, he
would not begin, though it was only eleven o'clock. It is
thought he wishes to consult with some one what he shall
say, and that he is not willing to bring disgrace upon him-
self, and consign a man to death unnecessarily. Such is our
present situation, and, though so favorable a one, our joy is
not complete ; for you must know that M. H. is so enraged,
that we expect some unjust and atrocious proceeding in con-
sequence, that will plunge us again into despair. But for'
this, my dear sir, we should have the satisfaction of seeing
our friend, though unfortunate, yet safe, as far as his life is
concerned, which is a great thing. We shall see what will
happen to-morrow. We are now seven to six. Le Feron,
Moussy, Brillac, Benard, Renard, Voisin, Pontchartrain, and

* Names of the committee who judged Fouquet :

FAVORABLE.

D'Ormesson, Le Feron, Moussy, Brillac, Renard,

Benard, Roquesante, La Toison, La Baume, Verdier,

Masnau, Catinet, Pontchartrain.

ADVERSE.

St. Helene, Piussort, Gisaucourt, Feriol, NogueX

Heraut, Poncet, Pore Seguier, The Chancellor.

324 LETTERS TO

the chancellor, have not yet voted ; but of these, we shall
have by far the greater number.

Saturday.
Fall on your knees, sir, and return thanks to God ; the
life of our poor friend is saved. Thirteen were of M. d'Or-
messon's opinion, and nine of Sainte-Helene's. I am almost
wild with joy.

Sunday evening.
I was sadly afraid some other person would have the pleas-
ure of communicating to you the joyful tidings. My courier
was not very diligent ; he said, on setting out, that he would
sleep no where but at Livri ; he assures me, however, he was
the first that arrived. Heavens ! how gratifying must the in-
telligence have been to you ! How inconceivably sweet are
the moments that relieve the heart on a sudden from the
anguish of so painful a suspense ! It will be a long time
before I shall lose the joy I received yesterday. It was, ic
reality, too great — too much, almost, for me to bear. The
poor man learned the news by signals, a few moments after
judgment was pronounced, and I dare say felt it in all its
extent. This morning the king sent the Chevalier du Guet
to the mother and wife of M. Fouquet, recommending them
both to go to Montlucon in Auvergne, the marquis and
Marchioness of Charost to Ancenis, and the young Fou-
quet to Joinville in Champagne. The good old lady sent
word to the king that she was seventy-two years of age ; that
she besought his majesty not to deprive her of her only re-
maining son, the support of her life, which apparently was
drawing near its close. The prisoner does not yet know his
sentence. It is said he will be taken, to-morrow, to Pignerol,
for the king has changed his banishment into imprisonment.
His wife, contrary to all rule, is not permitted to see him.
But let not this proceeding abate the least particle of your
joy ; mine, if possible, is increased ; for I see in this more
clearly the greatness of our victory. I shall faithfully relate

M. DE POMPONNE. 325

to you the sequel of this curious history. I have given you
what has passed to-day ; the rest to-morrow.

Tuesday evening.

This morning, at ten o'clock, M. Fouquet was conducted to
the chapel of the Bastille. Foucault held the sentence in his
hand. " You must tell me your name, sir," said he, " that I
may know whom I address." M. Fouquet replied, " You
know very well who I am ; and as for my name, I will not
give it here, as I refused to give it at the chamber of justice ;
by the same rule, also, I protest against the sentence you are
going to read to me." What passed being written down,
Foucault put on his hat and read the sentence ; M. Fouquet
heard it uncovered. Pecquet and Lavalee* were afterward
separated from him, and the cries and tears of these poor
men melted every heart that was not of iron ; they made so
strange a noise that M. d'Artagnan was obliged to go and
comfort them ; for it seemed to them as if a sentence of
death had just been read to their master. They were both
lodged in the Bastille, and it is not known what will be
done with them.

M. Fouquet went to the apartment of M. d'Artagnan : while
he was there, he saw M. d'Ormesson, who came for some papers
that were in the hands of M. d'Artagnan, pass by the window.
On perceiving him, M. Fouquet saluted him with an open
countenance, expressive of joy and gratitude ; he even cried
out to him that he was his humble servant. M. d'Ormesson
returned the salutation with very great civility, and came with
grief of heart to tell me what had" passed.

At eleven o'clock a coach was ready, into which M. Fouquet
entered, with four guards. M. d'Artagnan was on horseback
with fifty musqueteers ; he will escort him to Pignerol, where
he will leave him in prison, in the care of a man of the name
of St. Mars, who is a very honest fellow : he will have fifty
soldiers to guard his prisoner. I do not know whether an-

* His physician and his servant.

326 LETTERS TO

other servant has been allowed our friend ; you can form no
idea how cruel the circumstance of taking Pecquet and Lava-
lee from him appears to every one : some even go so far as to
draw dreadful inferences from it. May God preserve him, as
he has hitherto done : in him we must put our trust, and
leave our friend to the protection of that Providence which
has been so gracious to him. They still refuse him his wife,
but have permitted the mother to remain at Pare, with the
abbess her daughter. L'Ecuyer will follow his sister-in-law ;
he has declared that he has no other means of subsistence.
M« and Madame de Charost are going immediately to Ancenis.
M. Bailly, the attorney-general, has been turned out of office,
for having said to Gisaucourt, before judgment was pro-
nounced, that he ought to retrieve the honor of the Grand
Council, which would.be disgraced if C***, Poncet, and him-
self acted together in the business. I am sorry for this upon
your account: it is a rigorous measure. Tantcene animis
ccelestibus irce ?*

But no, it does not mount so high as that. Such harsh and
low revenge can not proceed from a heart like that of our
monarch's. His name is employed, and, as you see, profaned.
I will let you know the rest : how much better could we con-
verse upon these things ! it is impossible to communicate by
letter all we have to say. Adieu, my dear sir, I have not so
much modesty as you, and, without taking refuge in the
crowd, I assure you I love and esteem you highly. I have
seen the comet ; its train is of a beautiful length. I partly
found my hopes on it. A thousand compliments to your dear
wife.

Tuesday.

I send you something to amuse you for a few minutes. You
will certainly find it worth reading. It is charity to entertain
you both in your solitude. If the friendship I bear the father
and the son were a remedy against dullness, it is an evil of
which you would never have to complain. I am just come

* Virgil's JEneid, lib. i.

M. DE POMPONNE. 327

from a place where, it seems, I have renewed this sentiment, by
talking of you with five or six persons, male and female, who,
like me, rank themselves among your friends ; it was at the
Hotel de Nevers. Your wife was of the party ; she will tell
you of the delightful little comedians we met there. I believe
our dear friend is arrived, but I have had no certain intelligence.
It is only known that M. d'Artagnan, continuing his obliging
manners, gave him the necessary fur clothing, that he might
pass the mountains without inconvenience. I know also that
M. d'Artagnan has received letters from the king, and that he
told M. Fouquet to keep up his spirits and his courage, and
that eveiy thing would go well. We are always looking for-
ward to some mitigation, and I in particular : hope has been
too kind for me to abandon it. Whenever I see the king at
our ballets, these two lines of Tasso come into my head :

Goffredo ascolta, e in rigida sembianza
Porge piu di timor che di speranza.*

But I care not to despond : we must follow the example of
our poor prisoner ; he is tranquil and gay ; let us be so too.
It will give me real pleasure to see you here. I can not think
your exile will be of long duration. Assure your good father
of my affection ; I can not help expressing myself thus ; and
let me know your opinion of the stanzas. Some of them are
admired, as well as some of the couplets.

LETTER XL

Thursday Evening, January, 1665.
At length, the mother, the daughter-in-law, and the brother
have obtained leave to be together ; they are going to Mont-

* Godfrey attends, and with a brow severe
But little gives to hope, and much to fear.

Hoole's Translation.

328 LETTERS TO

lucon in the heart of Auvergne. The mother had permission
to go to Parc-aux-Dames to her daughter, but her daughter-in-
law has prevailed on her to accompany her. M. and Madame
de Charost are on their way to Aucenis. Pecquet and Lavalee
are still in the Bastille. Can any thing be more dreadful than
this injustice ? They have given M. Fouquet another servant.
M. d'Artagnan was his only comfort in his journey. It is said
that the person who is to have the care of him at Pignerol is
a very worthy creature. God grant he may be so ! or rather,
God protect our friend ! He has already protected him so
visibly that we ought to think he has an especial care of him.
La Foret, his old esquire, accosted him as he was going away.
" I am delighted to see you," said Fouquet to him ; " I know
your fidelity and affection : tell my wife and mother not to
despair, that my courage remains, and that I am in good
health." Is not this admirable ? Adieu, my dear sir ; let us
be like him ; let us have courage, and dwell on the joy occa-
sioned by the glorious sentence of Saturday.
Madame de Grignan is dead.*

Friday Evening.
It seems, by your thanks, as if you were giving me my dis-
missal ; but I will not receive it yet. I intend to write to you
whenever I please, and as soon as I have the verses from Ponfc-
neuf, I shall send them to you. Our dear friend is still upon
the road : it was reported that he had been ill ; every body
exclaimed, "What! already?" It was reported also that M.
d'Artagnan had sent to court to know what he was to do with
his sick prisoner, and that he had been answered unfeelingly,
that he must proceed with him, however ill he might be.
This is all false : but it shows the general feeling, and the
danger of furnishing materials with which to build whatever
horrid castles we please. Pecquet and Lavalee are still in the
Bastille : this conduct is truly unaccountable. The chamber
will be resumed after the Epiphany.

* Ange'lique Claire d'Angennes, M. de Grignan's first wife.

M. DE POMPONNE. 829

I should think the poor exiles must be arrived ere this at
the place of their destination. When our poor friend has
reached his, I will inform you ; for we must follow him to
Pignerol : would to God we could bring him thence to the
place we wish !* And how much longer, my dear sir, will
be your exile ? I often think of this. A thousand compli-
ments to your father. I have been told your wife is here : I
shall call upon her. I supped last night with one of your lady
friends, and we talked of paying you a visit.

* It was the general opinion that Fouquet died in prison in the year
1680. See Le Steele de Louis XIV,} and the note at the beginning of
the letter dated April 3, 1680.

LETTEKS TO HER SON THE MARQUIS DE

SEVIGNE.*

LETTER I.

Paeis, August 5, 1684.
While I am expecting your letters, I must relate to you a
very amusing little history. You remember how much you
regretted Mademoiselle de ***, and how unfortunate you
thought yourself in having missed her for a wife : " Your
best friends had all conspired against your happiness ; Mad-
ame de Lavardin and Madame de la Fayette had done you
irreparable injury ! A young lady of noble birth, great
beauty, and ample fortune, was lost to you ; surely a man
must be doomed never to marry, and to die like a beggar, to
let such an opportunity escape him, when it was in his own
power! The Marquis de *** was not such a fool; he has
made his fortune, and is settled. You must certainly have
been born under an unlucky planet to miss such a match !
Only observe her conduct ; she is a saint ; an example to all
married women." You remember all this, I suppose, my dear

* This only son of Madame de Sevigne inherited neither her genius,
her virtues, nor her energy of character. She treated him always with
great kindness, but was never blind to his faults. Her judicious man-
agement seems to have had a salutary effect on him, after the follies
of his youth were over. He reformed in a measure, and, in 1684, mar-
ried Jeanne Marguerite de Brenant de Mauron. of a noble and rich
family. This alliance was a great joy to Madame de Sevigne, and it
is to the illness of this beloved daughter-in-law that she alludes in the
second letter.

LETTERS TO HER SON THE MARQUIS. 331

son, and that till you married Mademoiselle de Mauron, you
were ready to hang yourself; you could not have done better
than you have done : but now for the sequel.

All those amiable qualities of her youth, which made Mad-
ame de la Fayette say she would not have her for a daughter-
in-law if she could bring millions to her son, were happily di-
rected to the service of religion : God was her lover, the only
object of her affection, all her desires centered in this single
passion ; but as every thing was in extremes with her, her
poor head could not bear the excess of zeal and fervent devo-
tion with which it was filled ; and, to satisfy the overflowings
of her Magdalen heart, she resolved to profit by good ex-
amples, by reading the Lives of the Holy Fathers of the Desert,
and of Female Penitents. She wished to become herself the
heroine of such admirable histories, and,- full of this idea, left
her house and family about a fortnight ago, and, taking with
her only five or six pistoles, and a little foot-boy, set out at
four o'clock in the morning, and, taking a post-chaise at the
skirts of the town, drove to Rouen, fatigued and covered with
mud. When she got there, she bargained for a passage in a
ship bound for the Indies : it was there, it seems, God had
called her ; it was there she was to lead a life of penitence
and humiliation ; it was there the map had pointed out to her
an abode, which invited her to pass the rest of her days in
sackcloth and ashes ; it was there the Abbe Zosimus* was to
visit her, and administer to her the last holy rites before she
expired. Satisfied with this resolution, and convinced that
Heaven inspired her with it, she discharged her foot-boy, and
sent him home to his own country, while she waited with
great impatience the departure of the ship: her good angel
consoled her for the delay; she piously forgot husband,
daughter, father, and relations, exclaiming :

* A famous hermit of the sixth century, who came on the eve of
every Good Friday to give the sacrament to St. Mary the Egyptian, in
a desert cave on the banks of the river Jordan. See the Lives of the
Fathers of the Desert.

332 LETTERS TO

£a! courage, mon coeur, point de faiblesse humaine.*

And now the moment arrived in which her prayers are
heard ; the happy moment that was to separate her for ever
from her native land ; she follows the law of the Gospel ; she
leaves all to follow Christ.

In the mean time, however, her family missed her, and
finding she did not return to dinner, sent to all the churches
in the neighborhood ; she was not there. They supposed she
would return at night ; no tidings were heard of her. They
now begin to be uneasy, the servants are all questioned, they
can give no account of her further than that she had taken
her foot-boy with her. " She must certainly be at her coun-
try-house." No. " Where can she possibly be ?" A messenger
is dispatched to the Cure of St. Jacques-du-Haut-Pas ; the
cure says he has not had the direction of her conscience for a
considerable time ; for, being a simple, honest man, and hav-
ing observed her full of strange chimerical ideas of religion,
he would have nothing to do with her. Every one was no\*
at a loss what to think ; two, three, four days, a week passed,
still no news of her ; at length her friends thought of sending
to some of the sea-ports, and, by mere accident, found her at
Rouen, on the point of setting out for Dieppe, and from thence
to the other extremity of the globe. They secure her, and
bring her back, a little disconcerted at being disappointed of
her journey :

J'allais, j'etais, l'amour a sur moi tant d'empire.f

A lady to whom she had imparted her design, revealed the
whole to her family, who, in despair at her folly, would fain
have concealed it from her husband, who happened to be ab-
sent from Paris at that time, and who would have been better
pleased at an exploit of gallantry in his amiable consort, than
such a ridiculous expedition as this. The husband's mother

* Courage, my heart ! disdain all human weakness.
t I went, I came, impelled by mighty Love.

HER SON THE MARQUIS. 333

came to Madame de Lavardin, and, bathed in tears, related the
whole story, while the latter could scarcely refrain from laugh-
ing in her face ; and the next time she saw my daughter, asked
her if she could forgive her for having been the instrument of
preventing her brother from marrying this pretty creature.
Madame de la Fayette was also, in her turn, informed of this
tragical story, and repeated it to me with great glee. She de-
sires me to ask you if you are still angry with her ; she main-
tains that no one can ever repent he did not marry a mad wo-
man.

"We dare not mention a syllable of this to Mademoiselle de
Grignan,* her friend, who for some time past, has been rumi-
nating upon a pilgrimage, and, as a preparative, has lately ob-
served a profound silence toward us all. What think you of
this curious narration ? Has it tired you ? Are you satisfied
now ? Adieu, my son. Marshal de Schomberg is marching to
Germany at the head of twenty-five thousand men, to hasten
the emperor's signing.f The gazette will inform you of the
rest. Adieu.

LETTER II.

Grignan, September 20, 1695.
And so you are at our poor Rocks, my dear children, expe-
riencing there the sweets of tranquillity, exempt from all du-
ties and all fatigues, and our dear little marchioness can breathe
again ! Good heavens ! how well you describe to me her situ-
ation, and her extreme delicacy ! I am so affected at it, and
I enter so affectionately into your ideas, that my heart is op-
pressed, and tears rush into my eyes. It is to be hoped that
you will only have the merit of bearing your sorrows with re-

* Sister of Count de Grignan.

f This relates to the truce which was on the point of being con-
cluded at Ratisbon, and was published at Paris on the 5th of October
following.

334 LETTERS TO

signation and submission ; but if God should appoint other-
wise, like all unforeseen events, it would turn out differently
from your expectations ; I will believe, however, that this dear
being will last, with care, as long as any one ; we have a thou-
sand examples of recovery. Has not Mademoiselle de la
Trousse suffered from almost every kind of disorder ? In the
mean time, my dear child, I enter into your feelings with infi-
nite affection, and from the bottom of my heart. You do me
justice when you say you are afraid of affecting me too much
by relating to me the state of your mind ; it does indeed affect
me, be assured I feel for you keenly. I hope this letter will
find you calmer and happier. Paris seems to be quite out of
your thoughts, on account of our marchioness. You are think-
ing only of Bourbon and the spring. Continue to inform me
of your plans, and do not leave me in ignorance of any thing
that concerns you.

Give me some account of the letters of the 23d and 30th of
August. There was also a note for Galois, which I desired M.
Branjon to pay. Give me an answer upon this subject. The
good Branjon is married ; he has written me a very charming
letter upon the occasion. Let me know whether the match is
as good as he represents it to be. The lady is related to all
the parliament, and to M. d'Arouys. Explain this to me, my
child. I also addressed a letter to you for our Abbe Charrier.
He will be sorry not to see you again ; and M. de Toulon !
you express yourself well respecting this ox ; it is for him to
tame him, and for you to stand firm where you are. Eeturn
the abbe's letter to Quimperle.

With regard to your poor sister's health, it is not at all good.
It is no longer her loss of blood that alarms us, for that is over ;
but she does not recover her strength ; she is still so much
altered that you would scarcely know her, because her stomach
does not regain its tone, and no food seems to nourish her ;
this arises from the bad state of her liver, of which you know
she has long complained. It is so serious an evil that I am real-
ly alarmed at it. Remedies might be used for her liver, but

HER SON THE MARQUIS. 335

they are unfavorable to the loss of blood, which we are in con-
tinual apprehension may return, and which has produced a bad
effect upon the afflicted part. These two maladies, which re-
quire opposite medicines, reduce her to a truly pitiable situa-
tion. Time, we hope, will repair this devastation ; I sincerely
wish it ; and if we enjoy this blessing, we shall go to Paris
with all expedition. This is the point to which we are arrived,
and which must be cleared up ; I will be very faithful in my
communications.

This languor makes us say little yet of the return of the
warriors. I do not doubt, however, that the business will be
concluded ; it is too far advanced : but it will be without any
great joy ; and even if we go to Paris, they would set out two
days after, to avoid the air of a wedding, and visits, which they
wish not to receive ; a burnt child, etc.

As to M. de St. Amant's grief, of which such a parade has
been made at Paris, it was founded upon my daughter's hav-
ing really proved by memorandums, which she has showed to
us all, that she had paid her son nine thousand francs out of
ten she had promised him ; and having in consequence sent
him only a thousand, M. de St. Amant said he was cheated,
that they wanted to take advantage of him, and that he would
give no more, having already given the fifteen thousand francs
of his daughter's portion (which he laid out at Paris in stock,
and for which he has the estates that were given up to him
here,) and that the marquis must seek for assistance in that
quarter. You may suppose that when that quarter has paid,
it may occasion some little chagrin ; but it is at an end. M.
de St. Amant thought in himself that it would not be advisa-
ble to quarrel with my daughter ; so he came here as gentle as
a lamb, wishing for nothing but to please and to take his daugh-
ter back with him to Paris ; which he has done, though, in
good truth, she ought to have waited for us ; but the advan-
tage of being in the same house with her husband, in that
beautiful mansion of M. de St. Amant ; of being handsomely
lodged, and living sumptuously at no expense ; made my

336 LETTERS TO

daughter consent without hesitation to accept all these com-
forts. But we did not see her depart without tears, for she is
very amiable ; and was so much affected at bidding us adieu,
that it could scarcely have been supposed she was going to
lead a life of pleasure in the midst of plenty. She had become
very fond of our society. She set out with her father on the
first of this month.

Be assured, my son, that no Grignan intends you harm ;
that you are beloved by all ; and that if this trifle had been a
serious thing, they would have felt that you would have taken
as much interest in it as you have done.

M. de Grignan is still at Versailles ; we expect him shortly,
for the sea is clear, and Admiral Russel, who is no longer to
be seen, will give him leave to come here.

I shall seek for the two little writings you mention. I rely
much upon your taste. The letters to M. de la Trape are
books we can not send, though in manuscript. You shall
read them at Paris, where I still hope to see you, for I love
you in a much greater degree than you can love me. It is
the order of nature, and I do not complain.

I inclose you a letter from Madame de Chaulnes, which I
send to you entire, from confidence in your prudence. You
will justify yourself in things to which you well know what
answer to make, and will pay no attention to those that may
offend you. I have said for myself all I had to say, waiting
for your answer respecting what I did not know ; and I added
that I would inform you of what the duchess told me. Write
to her, therefore, candidly, as having learned from me what
she writes respecting you. After all, you should preserve this
connection ; they love you, and have rendered you service ;
you must not wound gratitude. I have said that you owed
obligations to the intendant. But to you, my child, I say, is
this friendship incompatible with your ancient leagues with
the first president and the attorney-general ? Is it necessary
that you should break with your old friends for the sake of se-
curing an intendant ! M. de Pommereuil did not exact such

HER SON THE MARQUIS.

337

conduct. I have also said that you ought to be heard, aud
that it was impossible you should have neglected to congratu-
late the attorney-general upon the marriage of his daughter.
In short, my child, defend yourself, and tell me what you say,

that I may second you.

15

LETTERS TO THE UUUNT DE GRIGNAN.

FROM 16TO TO 1696.

LETTER I.

Paris, "Wednesday, 23d June, 1670.
You have written me the most charming* letter in the
world. I should have answered it much sooner, had I not
known that you were traversing your province. I should
likewise have sent you the music you desired, but have not yet
been able to- procure it : in the mean time let me tell you that
I love you most affectionately, and if that is capable of giving
you the satisfaction you assure me it does, you ought to be
the most contented man in the world. You must certainly be
so in the correspondence you carry on with my daughter ; it
appears to me very animated on her part, and I do not think
any one can love another more than she does you. I hope to

* Count de Grignan was of an ancient and noble Provencal family.
He was rich, and held a high office, that of Lieutenant-General of the
Government of Provence ; and as the governor, Yendome, was rarely
in his place, M. de Grignan was virtually the governor. He had been
twice married before his union with Madame de Sevigne's daughter,
and it seems likely, considering the fashion of those times, and indeed
of French marriages now, the mother was influenced by ambition. She
found it did not confer happiness. The count was extravagant and
fond of play, though he seems to have been a kind husband ; still it
is evident that Madame de Sevigne was constrained in her letters to
him. She compliments him, professes much affection, and was always
on friendly terms with him, because he was the husband of her darling
daughter. But her letters to him never go beyond this

LETTERS TO COUNT DE GRIGNAN. 339

return her to you safe and sound, with a little one the same,
or I will burn my books. I am not very skillful indeed my
self ; but I can ask advice, and follow it, and my daughter od
her side takes all possible care of herself.

LETTER n.

Paris, Wednesday, Aug. 6, 1670.
Is it not true that I have given you the prettiest wife in the
world ? and can any one be more prudent, more regular in
her conduct ? Can any one love you more, have more Chris-
tian sentiments, long more ardently to be with you, or attend
more strictly to the duties of her station ? It is ridiculous
enough to say all this of my own daughter ; but I admire her
as other people do, and perhaps more, as I am more an eye-
witness of her behavior ; and to own the truth to you, what-
ever good opinion I had of her as to the principal points, I
never thought she would have been so exact as she is in all
the minuter ones. I assure you, every body does her justice,
and she loses none of the praises which are so much her due.

LETTER IE.

Paris, Friday, August 15, 1670.

When I write to you so frequently, you must remember
that it is on condition that you do not answer me. Relying
on this, I shall proceed to tell you that I am heartily rejoiced
at the many honors that are conferred on you. It appears to
me that the commandant has less share in them than M. de
Grignan himself ; and I think I see a partiality for you that
another would not experience.

I find there is so brisk a correspondence kept up between a
certain lady and you, that it would be ridiculous to give you
any news. I have not so much as a hope of acquainting you

340 LETTERS TO

that she loves you : her every action, her whole conduct, with
all her little anxieties and cares about you, tell it plain enough.
I am very delicate in the point of friendship, and pretend to
know something about it, and I own to you that I am per-
fectly satisfied with what I see, and could not wish it to be
greater. Enjoy this pleasure to the utmost, and never be un-
grateful. If there is any little vacant place in your heart,
allow me the pleasure of occupying it ; for, I assure you, you
hold a very considerable one in mine.

LETTER IV.

Paris, "Wednesday, December 10, 16*70.
Madame de Coulanges has told me several times that you
love me sincerely, that you talk of me, that you wish me
with you. As I made the first advances toward this friend-
ship, and loved first, you may judge how happy I am to find
that you return the partiality I have so long had for you.
All that you write of your daughter is admirable, and I had
no doubt that the good health of the mother would comfort
you for your disappointment. The joy I should have had in
acquainting you with the birth of a son would have been too
great — it would have been showering too many blessings at
once ; and the pleasure I naturally take in being the messen-
ger of good news, would have been carried to excess. I shall
soon be in the same condition you saw me in last year. I
must love you extremely to send my daughter to you at this
inclement season of the year. How foolish it is to leave a
good mother, with whom you assure me she is very well sat-
isfied, to run after a man at the furthest end of France ! T
give you my word, nothing can be more indecorous than such
behavior. I do believe you were greatly concerned at the
death of the amiable duchess. I was so afflicted myself that
I stood in need of comfort while I was writing to you about
it.

COUNT D£ GRIGNAN. 341

My daughter desires me to acquaint you with the marriage
of Monsieur de Nevers;* that Monsieur de Nevers who was
so difficult to be caught, who used to slip so unexpectedly
through the hands of the fair, is at length going to wed.
And whom think you ? Not Mademoiselle de Houdancourt,
nor yet Mademoiselle de Grancei, but the young, the hand-
some, the modest Mademoiselle de Thianges,f who was
brought up at the Abbaye aux Bois. Madame de MontespanJ
has the wedding solemnized at her house next Sunday ; she
acts as mother on the occasion, and receives the honors as
such. The king restored Monsieur de Nevers to all his posts,
so that this belle, though she does not bring him a penny of
fortune, will be worth more to him than the richest heiress in
France. Madame de Montespan does wonders in every thing.

I forbid you to write to me. Write to my daughter, and
leave me to the freedom of writing to you, without embarking
you in a train of answers which would rob me of the pleasure
I have in acquainting you with every little trifle. Continue
to love me, my dear count. I dispense with your honoring
my motherly dignity, but you must love me, and assure your-
self that there is not a place in the world where you are so
dearly beloved as you are here.

LETTER V.

Paris, Friday, January 16, 1671.

Alas ! the poor dear child is still with me, for it was utterly

impossible for her, do what she would, to have set out the

10th of this month, as she all along hoped and intended to

do. The rains have been, and are still, so very violent that it

* Philip Julian Mazarini Mancini, Duke of Nevers.

f Diana Gabriel de Damas, daughter of Claud Leonor, Marquis de
Thianges, and Gabriel de Rochechouart Morteniar, sister to Madaire
de Montespan.

% Then mistress to Louis XIV.

342 LETTERS TO

would have been downright folly to have attempted it. The
rivers are overflowed, the roads are all under water, and the
carriage-tracks so covered that she would have run the risk
of being overturned in every ford. In short, things are in
such a state that Madame de Rochefort, who is at her coun-
try-seat, and is absolutely wild to be in Paris, where she is
expected with the greatest impatience by her husband and
mother, does not dare to venture till the roads are a little
safer. Indeed, the winter is perfectly dreadful. We have
not had an hour's frost, but there has been a continual deluge
of rain every day. Not a boat can pass under any of the
bridges ; the arches of the Pont Neuf are in a manner choked
up. In short, it is something more than common. I own
to you, that seeing the season so very inclement, I warmly
opposed her setting out. I would not stop her for the cold,
the dirt, or the fatigues of the journey, but methinks I would
not have her drowned. Yet, strong as the reasons are for
her stay, nothing could have prevailed on her had not the co-
adjutor, who is to go with her, been engaged to perform the
marriage ceremony of his cousin De Harcourt,* which is to
be solemnized at the Louvre. Monsieur de Leonne is to stand
proxy. The king has spoken to the coadjutor upon this sub-
ject, but the affair has been put off day after day, and may
not be finished this week. My poor daughter is -in such ex-
treme impatience to be gone that the time she now passes
with us can not be called living ; and if the coadjutor does
not disengage himself from this same wedding, I think I see
her ready to commit an act of folly by setting out without
him. It would be so extraordinary to go by herself, and so
happy on the contrary to have a brother-in-law to accompany
her, that I shall do all in my power to prevent their separa-
tion. In the mean time the waters may be a little drained off.
But I can assure you that I have no sort of pleasure in her

* Mary Angelica Henrietta of Lorraine,- married the 7th February,
1671, to Nugno Alvares Pereira de Mello, Duke of Cadaval in Por-
tugal

COUNT DE GRIGNAN. 343

company. I know that she must leave us. All that passes
now is mere ceremony and preparation. We make no par-
ties, we take no amusement ; our hearts are heavy, and we
talk of nothing but rains, bad roads, and dreadful stories ot
persons who have lost their lives in attempting to pass them.

LETTER VI.

The Rocks, Sunday, August 9, 1671.
You alone, my dear count, could have prevailed on me to
give my daughter to a Provencal ; this is truth, as Caderousse
and Merrinville will witness for me ; for if I had liked the lat-
ter as well as you, I should not have found so many expedients to
prevent a conclusion, and she had been his. Do not entertain
the least doubt of my having the highest opinion of you ; a
moment's reflection will convince you I am sincere. I am not
at all surprised that my daughter does not mention me to you ;
she served me just the same by you last year ; believe, there-
fore, whether she tells you so or not, that I never forget you,
I think I hear her scold, and say, "Ah ! this is a pretense of
yours to excuse your own laziness." I shall leave you to dis-
pute this among yourselves, and assure you that, though you
are perhaps the most happily formed for general love and es-
teem of any man in the world, yet you never were, and never
will be, more sincerely loved by any one than by me. I wish
for you every day in my mall ; but you are proud ; I see that
you expect me to visit you first ; you may think yourself very
happy that I am not an old woman, but am resolved to enjoy
the remains of life and health in taking that journey : our abbe
seems to have as strong an inclination to go there as myself;
that is one good thing. Adieu, my dear Grignan, love me al-
ways ; treat me with a sight of you, and you shall see my
woods.

344 LETTERS TO

LETTER VH.

Paris, June 20, 1673.
Come hither, my son-in-law. So, then, you are resolved to
send my daughter back to me in the first coach ; you are dis-
pleased with her, and quite angry that she admires your castle,
and think that she takes too great a liberty in pretending to
reside there and command in every thing. As you say you
hate every thing that is worthy of hatred, you certainly must
hate her. I enter into all your displeasure ; you could not
have addressed yourself to one who feels the force of it better
than myself. But do you know, after what you have said,
that you make me tremble to hear you talk of wishing me at
Grignan, and I am quite inconsolable for that reason ; for
there is nothing in futurity so dear to me as the hope of see-
ing you there ; and whatever I may say, I am persuaded that
you will be very glad of it too, and that you love me ; it is
impossible it should be otherwise ; I love you so well, that the
same sentiments must necessarily pass from me to you, and
from you to me. I commend the care of my daughter's
health to you above all earthly things ; watch over it, be abso-
lute master in all that regards it ; do not behave as you did at
the bridge of Avignon ; keep your authority in this one point,
and in every thing else leave her to her own way ; she is more
skillful than you. Ah, how I pity you for having lost the
pleasure of receiving her letters ! You were much happier a
year ago ; would to God you had that pleasure now, and I had
the mortification of seeing and embracing her ! Adieu, my
dearest count, though I believe you are as much beloved as
any man in the world, yet I do not think that any of your
mothers-in-law* ever loved you so well as I do.

* Madame de Sevigne was the third.

COUNT DE GRIGNAN. 34f

LETTER VEL

The Rocks, July, 16*74.
You flatter me too much, my dear count ; I shall accept of
but one part of your fine speeches, and that is the thanks you
return me for having given you a wife, that constitutes all youi
happiness ; for, indeed, I think I contributed a little toward it :
but the authority you have acquired over her in Provence, has
been wholly owing to yourself, to your merit, your birth, and
your conduct ; all this I have nothing to do with. Ah ! how
much you lose by my heart not being at ease ! Le Camus is
delighted with me ; he tells me I sing his airs extremely well :
he certainly composes divinely ; but I am so dull and woe-
begone, that I can learn nothing. You would sing them like
an angel ; I assure you Le Camus has a high opinion both of
your voice and judgment. I regret the loss of these little ac-
complishments which we are too apt to neglect. Why should
we lose them ? I have always said that we ought not to part
with them, and that they can never be an incumbrance ; but
what is to be done with a rope round the neck ? You have
given my daughter one of the most delightful journeys in the
world ; she is quite enchanted with it ; but then you have
dragged her over hills and dales, and exposed her to the dan-
gers of the Alps, and to the uncivil waves of the Mediter-
ranean ; in short, I have a month's mind to chide you for it ;
but let me first embrace you most affectionately.

LETTER IX.

The Rocks, November 6, 1675.
Count, I am delighted to hear that my daughter is satisfied
with you. Allow me to thank you by reason of the great in-
terest I take in your affairs, and which I entreat you to pre-
serve. You can not fail of this without ingratitude, and

15*

346 LETTERS TO COUNT DE ORIGNAN.

without doing injustice to the blood of the Adhemars. I
have read, in the Crusades, of one of these who was an illus-
trious personage six hundred years ago. He was beloved as
you are, and would never have given a moment's uneasiness
to such a wife as yours. His death was lamented by an army
of three hundred thousand men, and mourned by all the
princes in Christendom. Not many pages after I find a cas-
tellane, not altogether so ancient ; he is, indeed, a mere mod-
ern ; it was but five hundred and twenty years since he made
a great figure. I conjure you, therefore, by these two noble
ancestors, who are my particular friends, to be guided by
Madame de Grignan, and consider how much y du will consult
your own interest in doing so.

LETTERS TO THE PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU *

FROM 1681 TO 1682.

LETTER L

Paris, Friday, January 8, 1681.
I should be very sorry, sir, if our correspondence were to
end with the temple of Montpellier ; and all you say to this
effect, in doing the honors of your letters, by supposing the
assurance of their continuance to contain a threat to me, is
so ungenerous that I should be disposed to scold you ; nor
would the pretty turn you have given to this guarantee you
from my reproaches, were it not that the letter you have writ-
ten to my son makes me eager to tell you how much it has
delighted me. The neatness of the beginning has reminded
me of our merry stories, and the beauty of the verses has
made me regret that you have not continued them in good
earnest. If you have done so, let us share the pleasure of
reading them. The two Latin verses you explain are very
just. In short, we esteem your verse, your prose, and all
your productions. My son is still your adorer ; my daughter

* M. de Moulceau was President of the Chamber of Accounts of
Montpellier. It appears that Madame de Sevigne, at the time of her
journey into Provence, had found him on terms of strict friendship
with M. and Madame de Grignan, and M. de Vardes and Corbinelli,
and that she was so sensible of his worth and the charms of his mind
as to enter into a correspondence with him. But we remark with as-
tonishment that no mention is made of this interesting man in any of
the preceding letters.

348 LETTERS TO

admires and esteems you in the highest degree. I presume
you know my own sentiments for you, and that you see
plainly there is not a family in the world who so justly ap-
preciates your merit. You do the same in regard to M. de
Caicasonne, hy praising him as you do. The poor chevalier
has been here for these six weeks, laid up with the rheuma-
tism. He receives visits from persons almost as lame as
himself. Those who are left-handed show at least that their
taste is right. You have returned M. de Noailles to us in a
very ill state of health. He has so violent a diarrhoea that
it seems as if he had eaten to his own share all that he has
expended at Montpellier ; in short, he has heen obliged to re-
sign the staff, the staff that was the object of his love, the
staff he went so far to assume, the staff which was the re-
ward of all his other services. It is natural to suppose that
he must be very ill, when he gives it himself to M. de Lux-
embourg. You say much in his favor when you speak of
the distinction and expansion of heart he showed you. I wish
his generosity had gone so far as to have induced him to re-
turn our mortified friend's visit.* Have I not heard you say
that we ought to respect the unfortunate ? It can not be
doubted that this has increased the mortification. I pity
him for having suffered this feeling to take possession of

* Anne Jules, Duke de Noailles, had been nominated to the com-
mand in Languedoc, of which the Duke du Maine, then too young to
take it upon himself, had just been appointed governor. Preparations
were making for the destruction of Calvinism. In conjunction with
the intendant d'Aguesseau, father of the celebrated chancellor, Noail-
les endeavored for a long time to engage the court to employ mild
measures ; and even in the execution of the most rigorous he at first
showed some humanity ; but he afterward became one of the most
violent persecutors, and his dispatches, concerted with Louvois, did
not fail to excite the king to rigors of which he too late repented.

It appears that he thought he could not, with propriety, in the sit-
uation he held, return the visit of M. de Yardes, then an exile, and
whom Madame de Sevigne designates by the title of the mortified
friend.

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 349

him, and to have surmounted even his Christian philosophy ;
but I pity him still more if your heart be yet closed against
him. A friend like you would be a true consolation in all
his afflictions. Our friend (Corbinelli) is entirely occupied
here with his affairs. He does wonders. He is become the
best lawyer in Paris ; and this qualification came to him un-
expectedly along with his peruke and brandenbourg, so that
we should much sooner have taken him for a captain of cav-
alry than a man of business. It is thus the exterior often
deceives us. If M. de Vardes had not thrown him into
this employment, his gratitude and inclination would lead
him straight to you. His heart is still perfect in all the
moral virtues. They will become Christian virtues when it
shall please Providence, whom we still adore, and who seems
to treat you well, by the sentiments it inspires you with.
Adieu, my dear sir. We should have many things to say to
each other if we met. Who knows that some day or other
we may not ? Our friend writes to you separately ; so much
the worse for him : he will not know that I have the pleasure
of assuring you here of my sincere and faithful friendship.

LETTER n.

Paris, April 17, 1682.
If you are alarmed at the appearance of my neglect, be as-
sured, sir, it is a false alarm, and that appearances are deceitful ;
you do not suffer yourself to be forgotten ; Rochecourbieres,
Livri, and the days in which we have seen you, are faithful
guarantees of what I say ; and I am certain you believe it, and
that, being so well informed on every other subject, Christian
humility does not prevent you from knowing your own worth.
It is a truth, therefore ; you can not be forgotten. Our friend
and I have said a thousand times, " Let us write to this poor
reprobate ; but by continually delaying it, we have embarrassed
ourselves by our miserable security. It seems to me as if
Montpellier has given a great deal to the jubilee. You know

350 LETTERS TO

what a horror Corbinelli has of this sort of parade, which he
calls hypocrisy. I do not know exactly how he has acted
upon the occasion, and I have not dared question him ; but,
considering the extreme respect he has for this holy mystery,
and how rigorously he enters into the preparations for it,
of which he will not abate a single iota, I have long been
tempted to say to him, basta la meta (the half is sufficient) ;
for, in fact, if all the faithful were to follow his ideas upon the
subject, the ceremonials of religion would be done away. This
is the inspiration of God, and whether it be light or derelic-
tion, some great change must happen to alter his opinion.
M. de Vardes has put the same question to him, that you put
to me on his jubilee ; he has answered very honestly, and has
given him a probet autem semetipsum homo, which may occa-
sion great reflections. This is all I can tell you ; you know
and love the soil, for, indeed, the more his heart is known, the
more it must be admired. I perceive his departure approach,
and I perceive it with sorrow ; but what may not Providence
reserve for M. de Vardes ? M. de Bussy is recalled after an
exile of eighteen years ; he has seen the king, who received
him most graciously : these are times of justice and clemency ;
we not only do what is well, but what is perfectly well ; I
doubt not, therefore, that this poor exile's turn will come, and
every one else believes it so firmly that if any thing can do
him injury, it is this general report. You tell me the most
agreeable truth I can hear, in assuring me the young people
will bring from Languedoc all the politeness which failed them
here* They appear to me like the Germans who are sent to
Angers to learn the language ; they were Germans in man-
ners, and if they had not learned them out of court, would
seem to conduct themselves ridiculously. It is- easy to com-
prehend that, having had so good a master as M. de Vardes
for six months, they must have profited more than they had
done during their whole life.

* This refers to the daughter and son-in-law of M. de Vardes (M. and
Madame de Rohan), who had spent six months with him at Montpellier.

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 351

LETTER IE.

Paris, May 26, 1682.
Were you not very much surprised, sir, to see M. de Vardes
slip through your fingers, whom you had held so firmly for
nineteen years ? This is the time Providence had marked out
for him ; in reality, he was no longer thought of, he appeared
forgotten, and sacrificed to example. The king, who reflects
and arranges every thing in his head, declared one morning
that M. de Vardes would be at court in two or three days ; he
said he had written to him by the post, that he wished to sur-
prise him, and that for more than six months no one had
mentioned his name to him. His majesty was gratified ; he
wished to create surprise, and every one was surprised ; never
did intelligence make so great an impression, nor so great a
noise, as this. In short, he arrived on Saturday morning, with
a head singular in its kind, and an old justaucorps a brevet,*
such as was worn in the year 1663. He set one knee to the
ground in the king's chamber, M. de Chateauneuf being the
only person present. The king told him that while his heart
had been wounded he had not recalled him, but that he now
recalled him with a whole heart, and that he was glad to see
him. M. de Vardes made an admirable reply, with an air of
being deeply affected, and the gift of tears, which God has
given him, produced no ill effect upon this occasion. After
this first interview, the king caused the dauphin to be called,
and presented him to him as a young courtier. M. de Vardes
recognized, and saluted him ; the king said to him, laughing :
" Vardes, this is a blunder ; you know that no one is saluted
in my presence." M. de Vardes replied in the same tone :
"Sire, I have forgotten every thing; your majesty must par-

* This was a blue great-coat, embroidered with gold and silver,
which distinguished the principal courtiers: an especial permission
was necessary to wear it. The fashion had passed when Yardes re-
turned to court.

15*

352 LETTERS TO

don even thirty blunders." "Well, I will," said the king;
" stop at the twenty-ninth." The king afterward laughed at
his coat. M. de Vardes said, " Sire, when a man is so wretched
as to be banished from your presence, he is not only unfortu-
nate, but he becomes ridiculous." All this was said in a tone
of perfect freedom and playfulness. The courtiers performed
wonders. He came one day to Paris, and called upon me ; I
was just gone out to call upon him, but he found my son and
daughter at home, and in the evening I found him at his own
house : it was a joyful meeting ; I mentioned our friend to
him. " What, madam ! my master ! my intimate friend ! the
man in the world to whom I owe the greatest obligations !
can you doubt that I love him with my whole heart ?" This
pleased me highly. He resides with his daughter at Versailles.
The court goes to-day ; I suppose he will return, to catch the
kino- again at Auxerre, for it appears to all his friends that he
ought to take this journey, in which he will certainly pay his
court well, by bestowing the most natural praises on three
little things — the troops, the fortifications, and his majesty's
conquests. Perhaps out friend will tell you all this, and my
letter will be only a miserable echo ; but, at any rate, I have
entered into the minutiae, because I should like, on such an oc-
casion, to be written to in the same style, and I judge you, my
dear sir, by myself; I have often been deceived by others, but
never by you. It is said that your worthy and generous friend,
M. de Noailles, has rendered very important services to M. de
Vardes ; he is so generous that it is impossible to doubt this.
M. de Calvisson is arrived ; this must either break off, or con-
clude our marriage. In reality, I am weary of this tedious
affair, I am not in a humor to talk of any thing but M. de
Vardes. M. de Vardes forever ; he is the Gospel of the day.

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 353

LETTER IV.

Paris, July 28, 1682

You are going to hear a beautiful and an admirable storj ;
pay great attention to every circumstance attending it. The
Prince de Conti having expressed himself dissatisfied with the
Chevalier de Lorraine, because he had said the Prince de la
Roche-sur-Yon was in love with his wife, found an opportu-
nity of telling him, two days ago, in the gardens of Versailles,
that he would do him the honor of fighting him, because he
had offended him by his conversation, etc. The Chevalier de
Lorraine thanked him for the honor he intended him, and
wished to justify himself in what he had said ; after which
the prince told him that he might have M. de Marsan for his
second, who, healing himself named, stepped forward and
accepted the office without hesitation, desiring the Prince de
Conti to allow M. de Soissons to be the other second, as he
had long been an enemy to their family. The proposal was
yielded to, the party was formed, the place appointed, the
hour chosen, and secrecy enjoined. Can not you fancy your-
self in the times of the late M. de Boutteville ? Each went
his way ; but the Chevalier de Lorraine went straight to Mon-
sieur, to whom he related the whole story, and Monsieur the
next moment confided it to the king. You may guess what
he said to his son-in-law. He talked to him for more than
two hours with more of gayety than anger, but in a tone of
authority, which must have caused great repentance. Here
the affair ended. The public thinks the Chevalier de Lorraine
ought to have refused upon the spot, instead of consenting
and then betraying every thing ; but people of the trade
think that a refusal would have excited some angry words
from the prince, and perhaps some • menace not very easy of
digestion ; and then to have such a stigma cast upon him,
and from a man who is so much to be dreaded ! In this
way his conduct has been approved, and the more so because

354 LETTERS TO

his courage is unquestionable. What say you to this affair ?
How does it appear to you to be handled ? Alas ! if that
sainted princess were to descend from heaven, and to find her
dear son troubled with such impetuosity, do you not think
she would retrace her steps from grief and affliction ? You
will talk this over with M. de Vardes. Would to God that
the birth of a Duke of Burgundy, which is hourly expected,
could restore him to us !

LETTER V.

June 13, 1684.
Word was sent me from Languedoc that I had a law-suit
pending there, that M. de Grignan was prosecuted with rigor,
and that the judges were strange people. I cursed them
heartily, sir, and have since found that you are one of the
principals : it is you, therefore, I have loaded with so many
imprecations, you, whose protection I have claimed to soften
the rigor and to attend to the justice of my cause. It is to M.
d'Argouges I am indebted for the information, that this odious
judge and this highly-esteemed M. de Moulceaurare one and the
same. All the anger kindled against the first, has disappeared
at the name of the second, and the weapons have fallen from
my hand, like those of Arcabonne, when she recognized Ama-
dis. It is to M. de Moulceau that I address this quotation
from the opera ; you will suppose, that, in virtue of your title
of judge, I shall quote nothing but laws to you. There is one
established law in the world, particularly among honest men,
which is, never to condemn unheard : in this, sir, consists the
favor I have to ask you. The Prince de Conti claims an
estate of which we have been in possession for three hundred
years. I know, from M. de Corbinelli, that three hundred
years is a strong title ; we request you, sir, to give us time to
collect our proofs, to convince you of the weakness of the
Prince de Conti's claim and of the solidity of ours.

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 355

LETTER VI.

Paris, November, 24, 1685.
I have received no letter from you for more than fifteen
months ; I know not whether our enraged and jealous friend*
has intercepted any ; it is not, however, like him to do so ; he
would be more inclined to assassinate you with the little sword
you once used so pleasantly in the garden of Rambouillet.
We shall never forget your wisdom, nor your folly ; and I
have spent a year with my son in Brittany, where we have
often mentioned you with sentiments with which your merit
must impress all hearts that are not unworthy of knowing it.
We have been twenty times on the point of writing some
nonsense to you ; we wished to assure you that the scarcity of
the gratification did not prevent you from being often in our
remembrance, and twenty times has the demon which turns
aside good intentions perverted the course of this. At length,
sir, after having been overturned, drowned, and had a wound
in my leg, which has not been healed till within these six
weeks, I left my son, and his wife, who is very pretty, and ar-
rived at Baville, at M. de Lamoignon's, on the tenth or twelfth
of September, where I found my daughter and all the Grig-
nans, who received me with joy and affection. To complete
my happiness, my daughter will not leave me this winter. I
have found our dear Corbinelli just as I left him, except a little
more philosophical, and dying every day from some cause or
other : his freedom excites my envy ; in changing his object
he would become a saint ; he is, however, so kind and char-
itable to his neighbor, that I really believe the grace of God
is concealed under the name of Cartesian. He converts more
heritics by his good sense, and by not irritating them by vain
disputes, than others by all their controversy. In short, every
one now is a missionary, every one thinks he has a mission,
and particularly the magistrates and governors of provinces,
upheld by the dragoons : this is the greatest and most noble

* A jest which refers to Corbinelli.

356 LETTERS TO

action that has ever been conceived or performed. Like us,
you have been surprised with other news. What an event is
the death of the Prince de Conti ! after having experienced
all the perils of the Hungarian war, he came here to die of a
disorder which he scarcely felt ! His lovely widow has deeply
bewailed him : she has an annuity of a hundred thousand
crowns, and has received from the king so many marks of
friendship, and of his natural affection for her, that with such
assistance no one can doubt that she will in time be comforted.

LETTER VH.

Livri, October 25, 1686.
I have received your letter, sir ; it presented itself to me as
if you wished to make me ashamed of my silence, and to be-
lieve I had been ill, for the purpose of entering into conversa-
tion with me. It reminds me of a very pretty comedy, in
which the person who wishes to come to an explanation with
the lady who enters, makes her believe she called him, and
thus obtains a hearing. If you have the same intention, sir, I
return you a thousand thanks ; and I really can not compre-
hend how, esteeming you as I do, remembering you with so
much pleasure, speaking of you so readily, having so high a
relish for your understanding and your worth, to say no more
for fear of exciting jealousy, I can, with so many things to
promote a correspondence, have left you seven or eight months
without saying a word to you. It is iorrible ; but what does
it signify? let us remain in this freedom, since it is not com-
patible with the sentiments I have just expressed for you. I
have seen M. de la Trousse ; we talked of you the moment we
had embraced ; I think him, by what he told me, highly de-
serving the esteem you appear to entertain for him. The
stroke is at least double. I found him perfectly acquainted
with, and as sensible of your worth as you can possibly de-
sire. He must pass through this place on his way to La

LETTERS TO PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 357

Trousse ; I shall show him your letter, and I do not think it
will induce him to change his opinion. You have now M. de
Noailles with you : you are in such favor there that I shall
rejoice with you on the pleasure you will receive at seeing a
man whom you have inspired with such lively sentiments of
esteem for you. I can easily imagine the confusion which the
derangement of the states must have occasioned you ; but you
can not dispense with going to Mmes. I must say a word to
you respecting Mademoiselle de Grignan. You know, I pre-
sume, that she has been in the convent of the Carmelites for
eight months, and that she took the habit in form, with a zeal
too violent to last. In the first three months she found herself
so reduced, from the severity of the order, and her stomach so
injured by the meagerness of the provision, that she was
obliged to eat meat by compulsion. This inability to comply
with the rules, even in her noviciate, induced her to quit the
convent ; but with so true a sentiment of piety, of humiliation
at the delicacy of her health, and of such perfect contempt
for the world, that the holy nuns have preserved an affection-
ate friendship for her ; and she, who has only changed the
habit, and not the sentiment, has no false shame, like those
who grow weary of the life, and is now with us as usual, giv-
ing us the same edification. Her residence at Paris is fixed
at the Feuillantines, where she will board with several others ;
she will return there at Martinmas, when we do. What at-
taches her to this house is its vicinity to the Carmelites, where
she goes almost daily, and whenever a certain princess is there.
She takes from this holy convent all that agrees with her, that
is, its devotion and conversation, and leaves the strictness of
the order, to which she was by no means equal.

It is thus God has conducted her and gently repulsed her
from the high degree of perfection to which she aspired, to
support her in another a little inferior to it, which can not but
be good, since He gives her grace to love him alone, which is
all that can be desired in this world. But Providence has also
inspired her with the most noble, just, and praiseworthy thought

358 LETTERS TO

it was possible to conceive for her family. She was deter-
mined that her return to the world should not deprive her
father of what she wished to give him by her civil death : and
at quitting her convent, she made him a very handsome pres-
ent of forty thousand crowns, which he owed her ; that is,
twenty thousand crowns principal, and the rest arrears and
sums borrowed. This gift has been duly estimated, not only
by those who love M. de Grignan, but by those who knew that
all her property becoming personal at the age of five-and-
twenty, if she had not disposed of any thing by will, would
go almost wholly to her father ; and that M. de Grignan would
have eighty thousand crowns to pay Mademoiselle d'Alerac,
reckoning the principal of the jointure at forty thousand.
This is enough in conscience for us not to pity the sister, and
to rejoice that the family is relieved from this double pay-
ment. I own I have been very much affected at this season-
able and generous action ; and I admire the goodness of her
disposition, which led her to do, without affectation, the only
thing in the world that could render her dear to her family,
where she is now received and considered as its benefactress.
The understanding alone might have wrought this effect in
another, but it is best when produced only by the heart. My
daughter has contributed so well to this little maneuvre, that she
has received double pleasure from its success. The chevalier
has also done wonders ; for you may suppose it has been
necessary to assist, and give a form to these good intentions.
In short, all has gone well : even Mademoiselle d'Alerac has
entered into the justice of the sentiment. I pray that God
may reward her by a good establishment, of which she still
conceals from us every prospect, so that at present there is no
appearance of any thing of the kind. Do I not weary you,
sir, by this long account ? you will have an indigestion of the
Grignans. To divert you, let us talk a little of poor Sevigne :
I should mention him with grief if I could not tell you that after
five months of horrible suffering from medicines which worked
him to the very bone, the poor child is at length restored to

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 359

perfect health. He has spent the whole of August with me in
this retreat, which you are now acquainted with. We were
alone with the good abbe, we had everlasting conversations,
and this long intercourse has renewed our acquaintance with
each other, and our acquaintance renewed our friendship. He
is returned home with a stock of Christian philosophy, sprink-
led with a grain of anchoretism, and particularly with an ex-
treme affection for his wife, by whom he is equally beloved,
which makes him altogether the happiest man in the world,
because he passes his life agreeably to his own mind. We
have talked of you twenty times with friendship and delight,
and twenty times have we said, " Let us write to him, I wish
it very much ;" and when we have been on the point of giv-
ing ourselves this pleasure, a demon has stepped in to distract
our attention, and turn aside our good resolutions. What is
to be done, my dear sir, in misfortunes like these ? Perhaps
you know the mortification of forming good resolutions with-
out the power of executing them. I fear our dear jealous
friend calculates upon spending the winter with you ; you will
be very glad : you will laugh, and I shall cry ; for I have so
perfect a confidence in him, and so true a friendship for him,
that I can not lose the society of such a man without feeling
it painfully every moment ; M. de Vardes, however, whom he
is delighted to follow, will restore him to us, as he takes him
away from us. I am pleased that this attachment continues ;
you will act your part well, and I consider the pleasure of see-
ing you, and of establishing himself again in your heart, as a
happy circumstance for our friend. M. de Vardes has not
been sufficiently particular in the information you omitted to
tell me : the surest way is to write ourselves, as you see. I
do not write to you often, but you will own when I do that it
is not for nothing.

360 LETTERS TO

LETTER VIII.

Paris, November 26, 1686.
I thought, sir, that in purchasing an office, nothing was
necessary but to find money ; but I see that the manner of
giving and receiving it is also to be considered. You will soon
be quit of this embarrassment, from the desire you always have
to contribute to your own tranquillity. Good heavens ! how
rational and how worthy of you is this disposition, and how
just too is the choice of your company, when we come to
speak and point out its excellence ! If we judge from appear-
ances, it is very superior to our parliaments. I can fancy I
hear M. and Madame de Vernueil say a thousand kind things
to you, and receive yours in return. When this princess men-
tions me, tell her it is impossible to be more at her service
than I am. You have a sister of Madame de la Troche with
you, who is very amiable ; the eldest will place all the atten-
tions you pay her to her own account. I have presented
your compliments to the Chevalier de Grignan, who has re-
ceived them graciously ; he pointed out to the prince* the
silence and discretion of your departure ; nothing can ex-
ceed his concern and zeal for your interest : but we can an-
swer for nothing when we are left-handed. What you told
me the other day of a certain discourse he held with a certain
person, makes me exhort you to preserve the noble tran-
quility I have always witnessed in you, on the success of this
affair. We only returned from Livri yesterday ; the beauty
of the weather, and the health of my daughter, which has
been nearly established there, made us stay out of grati-
tude. In the two months we have been there, we have not
been able to prevail on our friend to give us his company for

* The Prince de Conti. It has been seen in the letter of June 13,
1684, that M. de Moulceau was judge in a law-suit in which M. de
Grignan was engaged with this prince, and that he was moreover at-
tached to him for other reasons.

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 361

more than ten days. He has a thousand little affairs there,
to which he is accustomed : I know nothing of his intentions
with respect to his departure, I almost doubt whether the
society he meets at M. de Vardes7 will not prevent him from
setting out soon. I assure you I shall reap the advantage of
his inclination to do so with pleasure, but I only contribute
toward it by my wishes. Pray inform us how M. de Vardes
finds himself in the midst of this troop of Bohemians ; I can
not get this vision out of my eyes. We shall have a thous-
and things to tell you of the son-in-law ;* in short, it struck
us the other day that if Homer had been acquainted with
him, he would have chosen him in point of anger for his
Achilles. We have a new prince and a new princess here.

LETTER IX.

Paris, December 15, 1686.
I wrote you a long letter, sir, more than a month ago,
full of friendship, secrets, and confidence. I know not what
became of it ; it lost its way, perhaps, in seeking for you at
the States, since you have not answered it : but this will not
prevent me from telling you a melancholy, and at the same
time a pleasing, piece of intelligence : the death of the prince,
which happened the day before yesterday, the 11th instant, at
a quarter after seven in the evening, and the return of the
Prince de Conti to court, through the kindness of the prince,
who asked this favor of the king in his last moments. The
king immediately granted it, and the prince had this conso-
lation on his death-bed ; but never was joy drowned in so
many tears. The Prince de Conti is inconsolable at the loss
he has sustained. It could not be greater, particularly as he
passed the whole time of his disgrace at Chantilly, where he
made an admirable use of the understanding and abilities of

* M. de Rohan, who had married the daughter of the Count de
Vardes.

16

362 LETTERS TO

the prince, and drew from the fountain-head all that was to
be acquired from so great a master, by whom he was ten-
derly beloved. The prince flew, with a speed that has cost
him his life, from Chantilly to Fontainebleau, where Madame
de Bourbon was seized with the small-pox, in order to pre-
vent the duke, who had not had the disorder, from nursing
her and being with her ; for the duchess, who has always
nursed her, would have been sufficient to satisfy him of the
care that was taken of her health. He was very ill, and at
length died of an oppression with which he was seized, which
made him say, as he was on the point of returning to Paris,
that he should take a much longer journey. He sent for his
confessor, Father Deschamps, and, after lying in a state of
insensibility for twenty-four hours, and receiving all the sacra-
ments, he died, regretted and bitterly lamented by his family
and his friends. The king was much afflicted at the event,
and, in short, the grief of losing so great a man and so great
a hero, whose place whole ages will not be able to supply,
has been felt by all ranks. A singular circumstance hap-
pened three weeks ago, a little before the departure of the
prince for Fontainebleau. Vernillon, one of his gentlemen,
returning from the chase at three o'clock, saw, as he ap-
proached the castle, at one of the windows of the armory, an
apparition : that is, a man who had been dead and buried.
He dismounted, and came nearer ; he still saw it. His valet,
who was with him, said, " I see the same, sir, that you see."
Vernillon had been silent, that his valet might speak of his
own accord. They entered the castle together, and desired
the keeper to give them the key of the armory. The keeper
went with them ; they found all the windows closed, and a
silence which had been undisturbed for more than six months.
This was told to the prince : he appeared struck with it at
first, and afterward laughed at it. Every one heard the story
and trembled for the prince. You see what the event has
been.

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 363

LETTER X.

Paris, Monday, April 29, 1687.
So you like my letters, sir. I am delighted that you do ;
this is one which will be worth a hundred. My robust
health was slightly attacked, about a month ago, by a little
colic, a little rheumatism, a little vexation ; consequently,
all this might excuse me from writing to you ; but I had
rather die than another should tell you that the Prince de
Conti is at length returned to court. He is this night at
Versailles, and the king, like a kind father, has restored him
to favor, after having exiled him for a while, to leave him at
leisure to make his own reflections. No doubt he has done
so, and the court will be very gay and splendid on the occa-
sion. His majesty will make several chevaliers at Whitsun-
tide, but it will be only a family promotion : M. de Chartres,
the Duke de Bourbon, the Prince de Conti, and M. du Maine,
but no one else : all the other candidates must be pleased to
have patience ; but they will not see without mortification
the adjournment of their hopes. The Duke de Vieuville is
governor to the Duke de Chartres. Madame de Polignac,
who is not Mademoiselle d'Alerac, paid a visit yesterday to
Madame de Grignan. She was brilliant, lively, elated with
the grandeur of the house of Polignac, fond of talking of the
name, and all the personages belonging to it. She has ta-
ken upon herself the fortune of the two brothers, and has
supported, generously and courageously, the frown and
disapprobation of the king. She has employed skillful ar-
tificers ; and instead of deserting the deserted, like women
in general, she has made it a point of honor to reinstate
them at court. I could answer for it that she will revive
and re-establish this family. This is what Providence had
in store for them, and which prevented us from being
able to read distinctly what it had written for Mademoiselle
d'Alerac. Adieu, sir ; love me, for indeed you ought. I love
your mind, your worth, your wisdom, your folly, your virtue,

364 LETTERS TO

your humor, your goodness : in short, all that belongs to you,
and wish you, and the pretty covey under your wing, which
must afford you so much pleasure and comfort, every possi-
ble happiness. All here salute you, except our friend, who
knows nothing of this hasty letter. I shall talk of you a
great deal with Bourdaloue. Madame Dangeau, formerly Ba-
varia, is very prudent, very amiable, and makes her husband
very happy ; she might have made him very ridiculous.

LETTER XL

Wednesday, March 2, 1689.
What things, sir, may not be said ! what a period in the
history of our monarch is the manner in which he has re-
ceived the king of England ! the presents with which he has
loaded him in setting out from hence for Ireland ; vessels at
Brest, where he now is, frigates, troops, officers ; the Count
d'Avaux as embassador extraordinary and adviser, and who is
also to have the care of the troops and money ; two millions
on his departure, and as much afterward as he wants ! Be-
side these great things he has given him his arms, his helmet,
his cuirass, which can not fail of bringing good fortune to
him. He has given him arms sufficient for ten or twelve
thousand men. And as to little conveniences they are in-
numerable : post-chaises admirably made, calashes, carriage
and saddle-horses, services of gold and silver, toilets, linen,
camp-beds, magnificent swords of state, swords for service,
pistols; in short, every thing of every kind that can be
thought of; and in embracing him as he bid him adieu, he
said to him, " You can not say that I am not affected at your
departure : I own to you, however, that I wish never to see
you again ; but if, unfortunately, you should return, be as-
sured you will find me as you leave me." Nothing could be
better said, nothing more just : generosity, magnificence, mag-

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 365

nanimity were never exercised as they have been by his
majesty on this occasion.

We hope that the Irish war will be a powerful diversion,
and prevent the Prince of Orange from tormenting us by
descents upon our coast ; and thus our three hundred thou-
sand soldiers, our armies so well stationed every where, will
only serve to make the king feared, without any one daring
to attack him.

This is a time of political discussion : I should very much
like to hear you talk over these great events. I inclose the opin-
ion of a respectable upholsterer on the questions, respecting fur-
niture, of Madame de Moulceau : but whatever he may say of a
gold fringe and double taffeties for curtains, and though there
are many such here, nothing is so pretty, so suitable, or so
cool for the summer, as curtains made of these beautiful taf-
feties single, and tapestry the same. I have seen them at sev-
eral houses, and admire them exceedingly : every thing must
be looped up, and plaited, as he has directed : for the other
kind of furniture, you must have damask or brocade.

LETTER XH.

Grignan, Friday, November 10, 1690.

Where do you think I am, sir ? Did you not know I was
in Brittany ? Our Corbinelli must have told you so. After
having been there sixteen months with my son, I thought it
would be very pleasant to spend the winter here with my
daughter. This plan of a journey of a hundred and fifty
leagues at first appeared a castle in the air ; but affection ren-
dered it so easy, that in fact I executed it between the 3d
and 24th of October, on which day I arrived at Robinet's
gate, where I was received by Madame de Grignan with open
arms, and with so much joy, affection, and gratitude, that I
thought T had not come soon enough, nor from a sufficiently

366 LETTERS TO

great distance. After this, sir, tell me that friendship is not a
fine thing ! it makes me often think of you, and wish to see
you here once more during my life. We shall be here the
whole of this winter, and the next summer ; if you do not find
a moment to come and see us, I shall think you have for-
gotten me. You will not know this house again, it is so
much improved ; but you will find its owners still abounding
with esteem for you ; and me, sir, possessing a regard for
you, capable of driving our friend to madness, and worthy of
your paying us this visit.

LETTER XIII.

GrRiGNAN, June 5, 1695.

I intend, sir, to bring an action against you, and thus I set
about it. I wish you to judge it yourself. I have been here
for more than a year with my daughter, for whom I have as
much love as ever. Since that time you have no doubt heard
of the marriage of the Marquis de Grignan to Mademoiselle de
Saint-Amand. You have seen her often enough at Mont-
pellier to be acquainted with her person ; you have also heard
mention of the vast wealth of her father. You are not ig-
norant that this marriage was solemnized with great pomp in
the chateau which you know. I suppose you can not have
forgotten the time when the true esteem we have always pre-
served for you began. On this subject I measure your senti-
ments by my own, and I judge that, we not having forgotten
you, you can not have forgotten us.

I even include M. de Grignan, whose date is still more an-
cient than ours. I collect all these things, and I find myself
injured on every side ; I complain of it here, I complain of it
to our friends, I complain of it to our dear Corbinelli, the
jealous confidant and witness of all the esteem and friendship
we bear you ; and at length, sir, I complain of it to yourself.
Whence proceeds this silence ? is it from forgetfulness ? from

PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU. 367

perfect indifference ? I know not which to say : what would
you have me think ? What does your conduct resemble ?
Give a name to it, sir ; the cause is now ready for your sen-
tence. Pass it : I consent that you should be both party and
judge.

LETTER XIV.

Grignan, Saturday, February 4, 1696.
I was right, sir, when I supposed you would be concerned at
my anxiety, and would use all the diligence in your power to
relieve it. M. Barbeirac's prescription and your letter had
wings, as you wished ; and it seems that this little fever, which
appeared so low, had wings too, for it vanished at the bare
mention of M. Barbeirac's name. Seriously, sir, there is some-
thing miraculous in this sudden change ; and I can not doubt
that your wishes and your prayers contributed to produce it.
Judge of my gratitude by their effect. My daughter goes
halves with me in all I say here ; she returns you a thousand
thanks, and entreats you to give a great many to M. Barbeirac.
We are happy in having no longer any thing to do, but to
take patience and rhubarb, which she finds agree well with
her. We doubt not that in this quiet state, rhubarb is a medi-
cine which M. Barbeirac must approve, with a regimen, which
is sometimes better than all. Thank God, sir, both for your-
self and for us ; for we are certain that you are interested in
tnis acknowledgment ; and then, sir, cast your eyes upon all
the inhabitants of this chateau, and judge of their sentimenta
for you.

LETTERS TO M. DE COULANGES *

FROM 1676 TO 1696.

LETTER I.

Paris, Monday, Dec. 15, 1670.
I am going to tell you a thing the most astonishing, the
most surprising, the most marvelous, the most miraculous, the
most magnificent, the most confounding, the most unheard of,
the most singular, the most extraordinary, the most incredible,
the most unforeseen, the greatest, the least, the rarest, the
most common, the most public, the most private till to-day,
the most brilliant, the most enviable ; in short, a thing of which
there is but one example in past ages, and that not an exact
one either ; a thing that we can not believe at Paris ; how
then will it gain credit at Lyons ? a thing which makes every-
body cry, " Lord have mercy upon us !" a thing which causes
the greatest joy to Madame de Rohan and Madame de Haut-
erivs; a thing, in fine, which is to happen on Sunday next,
when those who are present will doubt , the evidence of their
senses ; a thing which, though it is to be done on Sunday, yet
perhaps will not be finished on Monday. I can not bring my-
self to tell it you ; guess what it is. I give you three times to
do it in. What, not a word to throw at a dog ? Well then,

* Philip Emanuel de Coulanges, master of the requests, so well
known in the gay world for his wit, humor, and the singular talent he
had for a jovial song. He was cousin-german to Madame de Sevigne.

LETTERS TO M. DE COULANGES. 369

I find I must tell you. Monsieur de Lauzun* is to be married

next Sunday at the Louvre, to pray guess to whom !

I give you four times to do it in, I -give you six, I give you a
hundred. Says Madame de Coulanges, " It is really very hard
to guess; perhaps it is Madame de la Valliere." Indeed,
madam, it is not. " It is Mademoiselle de Eetz, then." No,
nor she neither ; you are extremely provincial. " Lord bless
me," say you, " what stupid wretches we are ! it is Mademoi-
selle de Colbert all the while." Nay, now you are still further
from the mark. " Why then it must certainly be Mademoiselle
de Crequy." You have it not yet. Well, I find I must tell
you at last. He is to be married next Sunday, at the Louvre,

with the king's leave, to Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de

Mademoiselle — guess, pray guess her name ; he is to be mar-
ried to Mademoiselle, the great Mademoiselle ; Mademoiselle,
daughter to the late Monsieur ;f Mademoiselle, grand-daughter
of Henry the IVth; Mademoiselle d'Eu, Mademoiselle de
Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle d'Or-
leans, Mademoiselle, the king's cousin-german, Mademoiselle,
destined to the throne, Mademoiselle, the only match in France
that was worthy of Monsieur. What glorious matter for talk !
If you should burst forth like a bedlamite, say we have told
you a lie, that it is false, that we are making a jest of you, and
that a pretty jest it is, without wit or invention ; in short, if
you abuse us, we shall think you quite in the right ; for we
have done just the same things ourselves. Farewell, you will
find by the letters you receive this post, whether we tell you
truth or not.

LETTER E.

Paris, Friday, Dec. 19, 1670.
What is called " falling from the clouds," happened last night
at the Tuilleries ; but I must go further back. You have al-

* Antonius Nompar de Caumont, Marquis de Puiguilhem, afterward
Duke de Lauzun.

f Gaston of France, Duke of Orleans, brother to Louis XTTI.

16*

g>70 LETTERS TO

ready shared in the joy, the transport, the ecstacies of the prin-
cess and her happy lover. It was just as I told you, the affair
was made public on Monday. Tuesday was passed in talking,
astonishment, and compliments. Wednesday, mademoiselle
made a deed of gift to Monsieur de Lauzun, investing him with
certain titles, names, and dignities, necessary ,to be inserted in
the marriage-contract, which was drawn up that day. She
gave him then, till she could give him something better, four
duchies ; the first was that of Count d'Eu, which entitles him
to rank as first peer of France ; the Dukedom of Montpen*
sier, which title he bore all that day ; the Dukedom de Saint
Fargeau ; and the Dukedom de Chatellerault, the whole val-
ued at twenty-two millions of livres. The contract was then
drawn up, and he took the name of Montpensier. Thursday
morning, which was yesterday, mademoiselle was in expecta-
tion of the king's signing the contract, as he had said that he
would do ; but, about seven o'clock in the evening, the queen,
monsieur, and several old dotards that were about him, had so
persuaded his majesty that his reputation would suffer in this
affair, that, sending for mademoiselle and Monsieur de Lauzun,
he announced to them, before the prince, that he forbade them
to think any further of this marriage. Monsieur de Lauzun
received the prohibition with all the respect, submission, firm
ness, and, at the same time, despair, that could be expected in
so great a reverse of fortune. As for mademoiselle, she gave
a loose to her feelings, and burst into tears, cries, lamentations,
and the most violent expressions of grief ; , she keeps her bed
all day long, and takes nothing within her lips but a little
broth. What a fine dream is here ! what a glorious subject
for a tragedy or romance, but especially talking and reasoning
eternally ! This is what we do day and night, morning and
evening, without end, and without intermission; we hope you
do the same, Efra tanto vi bacio le mani : " and with this I
kiss your hand."

M. DE COULANGES. 3*11

LETTER HI.

Paris, Wednesday, Dec. 24, 1670.
You are now perfectly acquainted with the romantic story
of mademoiselle and of Monsieur de Lauzun. It is a story
well adapted for a tragedy, and in all the rules of the theater ;
we laid out the acts and scenes the other day. We took four
days instead of four and twenty hours, and the piece was com-
plete. Never was such a change seen in so short a time ;
never was there known so general an emotion. You certainly
never received so extraordinary a piece of intelligence before.
M. de Lauzun behaved admirably ; he supported his misfor-
tune with such courage and intrepidity, and at the same time
showed so deep a sorrow, mixed with such profound respect,
that he has gained the admiration of every body. His loss is
doubtless great, but then the king's favor, which he has by
this means preserved, is likewise great ; so that, upon the
whole, his condition does not seem so very deplorable. Made-
moiselle, too, has behaved extremely well on her side. She
has wept much and bitterly ; but yesterday, for the first time,
she returned to pay her duty at the Louvre, after having re-
ceived the visits of every one there ; so the affair is all over.
Adieu.

LETTER IV.

Paris, Wednesday, Dec. 31, 1670.
I have received your answers to my letters. I can easily
conceive the astonishment you were in at what passed between
the 15th and 20th of this month ; the subject called for it all.
I admire likewise your penetration and judgment, in imagining
so great a machine could never support itself from Monday to
Sunday. Modesty prevents my launching out in your praise
on this head, because I said and thought exactly as you did.
I told my daughter on Monday, " This will never go on as it
should do till Sunday ; I will wager, notwithstanding this wed-

372 LETTERS TO

ding seems to be sure, that it will never come to a conclusion."
In effect the sky was overcast on Thursday morning, and about
ten o'clock, as I told you, the cloud burst. That very day I
went about nine in the morning to pay my respects to made-
moiselle, having been informed that she was to go out of town
to be married, and that the coadjutor of Rheims* was to per-
form the ceremony. These were the resolves on Wednesday
night, but matters had been determined otherwise at the Louvre
ever since Tuesday. Mademoiselle was writing ; she made me
place myself on my knees at her bed-side ; she told me to
whom she was writing, and upon what subject, and also of the
fine presents she had made the night before, and the titles she
had conferred ; and as there was no match in any of the courts
of Europe for her, she was resolved, she said, to provide for
herself. She related to me, word for word, a conversation she
had had with the king, and appeared overcome with joy, to
think how happy she should make a man of merit. She men-
tioned, with a great deal of tenderness, the worth and gratitude
of M. de Lauzun. To all which I made her this answer :
" Upon my word, mademoiselle, your highness seems quite
happy ! but why was not this affair finished at once last Mon-
day ? Do not you perceive that the delay will give time and
opportunity to the whole kingdom to talk, and that it is abso-
lutely tempting God, and the king, to protract an affair of so
extraordinary a nature as this is to so distant a period ?" She
allowed me to be in the right, but was so sure of success, that
what I said made little or no impression on her at the time.
She repeated the many amiable qualities of Monsieur de Lau-
zun, and the noble house he was descended from. To which I
replied in these lines of Cornei lie's Polyeuctus :

Du moins on ne la peut blamer d'un mauvais choix,
Polyeucte a du nom. et sort du sang des rois.

Her choice of him no one can surely blame,
"Who springs from kings, and boasts a noble name.

* Charles Maurice le Tellier.

M. DE COULANGES. 373

Upon which she embraced me tenderly. Our conversation
lasted above an hour. It is impossible to repeat all that passed
between us, but I may without vanity say that my company
was agreeable to her, for her heart was so full that she was
glad of any one to unburden it to. At ten o'clock she devoted
her time to the nobility, who crowded to pay their com-
pliments to her. She waited all the morning for news from
court, but none came. All the afternoon she amused herself
with putting M. de Montpensier's apartment in order, which
she did with her own hands. You know what happened at
night. The next morning, which was Friday, I waited upon
her, and found her in bed ; her grief redoubled at seeing me ;
she called me to her, embraced me, and whelmed me with
tears.

" Ah !" said she, " you remember what you said to me yes-
terday ? What foresight ! what cruel foresight !" In short,
she made me weep to see her weep so violently. I have seen
her twice since ; she still continues in great affliction, but be-
haves to me as to a person that sympathizes with her in her
distress ; in which she is not mistaken, for I really feel senti-
ments for her that are seldom felt for persons of such superior
rank. This, however, between us two and Madame de Cou-
langes ; for you are sensible that this chit-chat would appear
ridiculous to others.

LETTER V.

The Rocks, January 8, 1690.
What a melancholy date, my amiable cousin, compared
with yours ! It suits a recluse like me, and that of Rome
suits one whose fate is to wander uncontrolled, and " who
stalks his idleness from one end of the world to the other."
What a happy life ! and how mildly has Fortune treated you,
as you say, notwithstanding her quarrel with you ! Always
beloved, always esteemed, always carrying joy and pleasure

374 LETTERS TO

along with you, always the favorite of, and fascinated with,
some friend of consequence — a duke, a prince, or a pope (for
I will add the holy father by way of novelty) ; always in good
health, never at the charge of any one, no business, no ambi-
tion ; but, above all, the advantage of not growing old !
This is the height of felicity. You doubt, sometimes, whether
you are not advancing, by certain calculations of time and
years ; but old age is still at a distance. You do not ap-
proach it with horror, as some persons I could name. This
is reserved for your neighbor, and you have not even the
fears that are usually felt at seeing a fire in your neighbor-
hood. In short, after mature reflection, I pronounce you the
happiest man in the world. This last journey to Rome is, in
my opinion, the most delightful adventure that could have
happened to you, with an adorable embassador (the Duke de
Chaulnes), on a noble and grand occasion, and a visit to the
beautiful mistress of the world, whom, having once seen, we
are always longing to see again. I very much like the verses
you have made on her. She can not be too highly celebrat-
ed. I am sure my daughter will approve them. They are
well written and poetical ; we sing them. I am delighted
with what you tell me of Paulina, whom you saw at Grignan
in your way. I have judged most favorably of her from your
praises, and the unaffected letter you wrote to Madame de
Chaulnes, which she has sent to me. Oh, how much I should
like to take a journey to Rome, as you propose ! but then it
must be with the face and air I had many years ago, and not
with those I now have. A woman, particularly, should not
move her old bones except to be embassadress. I believe that
Madame de Coulanges, though still young, is of the same
opinion ; but in my youth I should have been in raptures
with such an adventure. It is not the same with you. Ev-
ery thing becomes you. Enjoy, then, your privilege, and the
jealousy you excite to know who shall be favored with you.
I will not waste my time in arguing with you on the present
state of affairs. All the duke's prosperities have given mo

M. DE COULANGES. 375

real joy. You fear precisely what all his friends apprehend,
that, being the only one who can fill the place he holds with
equal success and reputation, 'he will be kept in it too long.
This apartment in your new palace creates new alarms ; but
let us do better. Let us not anticipate evils ; rather let us
hope that every thing will happen as we wish, and that we
shall all meet again at Paris. I was delighted with your re-
membrance, your letter, and your songs. Write to me when-
ever it is agreeable and convenient. I take the liberty of
sending this by the embassadress ; and I do more, my dear
cousin, for under her protection I take the liberty of embrac-
ing my dear governor of Brittany, and his excellency the em-
bassador, with real affection, and without offense to respect.
These hio-h dignities do not intimidate me. I am sure he still
loves me. God bless him and bring him back again. These
are my wishes for the new year. Adieu, my dear cousin ; I
embrace you. Continue to love me. I wish it — it is my
whim, and to love you more than you love me. But you are
very amiable, and I must not place myself on a par with you.

LETTER VI.

GrRIGNAN, April 10, 1691.

We have received a letter dated the 31st of March from
our dear embassador. It came in less than a week. This
expedition is delightful, but what he tells us is still more so.
It is impossible to write in better spirits. My daughter takes
upon herself to answer him, and as I desire her to send the
Holy Ghost with all diligence, not only to create a pope,* but
to put a speedy termination to business, that he may be able
to pay us a visit. She assures me that she will send him

* Alexander VIII. had been dead for two months and a few days.
Before he died, he distributed among his nephews all the money he
possessed, which made Pasquin say that it would have been better for
the church to have been his niece than his daughter.

376 LETTERS TO

word of the conquest of Nice in five days after opening the
trenches by M. de Catinet, and that this intelligence will pro-
duce the same effect for our bulls. Tell us, my dear cousin,
if we judge rightly. We have received M. de Nevers' epistle
to the little Le Clerc of the academy. It is accompanied by
one of your letters ; they always give us great pleasure. The
packet came very slowly ; we know not why. There is nei-
ther rhyme nor reason in the conduct of the post. We think
the epistle of M. de Nevers very pretty and veiy entertaining.
In short, all his productions have so peculiar and so excellent
a character that after them we can relish no others. The two
last verses of the song he made for you, charmed my daugh-
ter as a Cartesian. Speaking of the fine wines of Italy, he
says :

Sur la membrane de leur sens
Font des sillons charmans.*

In short, it all deserves praise. For instance, can any thing
be more humorous, in his epistle, than the smallest human
string wound up to the highest pitch ; and the other extreme,
of a hundred crotchets rolling in bass to the very depth of
the abyss ? This picture is complete, and the opera of which
he speaks is deservedly ridiculed ; but we can not comprehend
why he has given his son's name to this epistle : cui bono ?
and where is the wit of it ? for the style resembles his own
as much as one drop of water resembles another. It would
be impossible to be deceived, and the subject can give offense
to none. If you do not explain this to us, we shall be ill.

But let us talk of your grief at having lost this delightful
family,f which has so well celebrated your merit in verse and
prose, while you at the same time were so much alive to the
charms of its society. It is easy to conceive the painfulness
of this separation. M. de Chaulnes will not suffer us to be-
lieve that he shares it with you. An embassador must be oc-

* They make charming furrows upon the membrane of the senses.
f M. and Madame de Nevers.

M. DE COULANGES.

377

cupied only with the business of the king, his master, who on
his side has taken Mons, with a hundred thousand men,
in a manner truly heroic, going every where, visiting every
place, and indeed, exposing himself too much. The policy of
the Prince of Orange, who was taking his measures very
quietly with the confederate princes for the beginning of May,
has found itself a little disconcerted by this promptitude.
He threatens to come to the assistance of this great place. A
prisoner told this to the king, who replied, coolly, " We came
here to wait for him." I defy your imagination to frame a
more perfect and more precise answer. I therefore, suppose,
my dear cousin, that by sending you the news of this other
conquest,* in four days, your Rome will not be sorry to live
paternally with her elder son. God knows whether our em-
bassador will ably support the identity of the greatest king in
the world, as M. de Nevers said.

Let us return to our own country. Our little Marquis de
Grignan went to the siege of Nice like an adventurer, vago di
fama (eager for fame). M. de Catinet gave him the com-
mand of the cavalry for several days, that he might not be a
volunteer. This did not prevent him from going every where,
from exposing himself to the fire, which was at first very
brisk, or from bearing fascines, for this is the fashion ; but
what sort of fascines, my dear cousin ? All from orange-

* The town of Mons surrendered to the king on the 10th of April,
the day on which this letter is dated, after a siege of eighteen days,
To Boileau is attributed the following impromptu, addressed to a lad?
who required him to write some verses upon the occasion :

Mons etait, disait-on, pucelle
Qu'un roi gardait avec grand soin ;
Louis-le-Grand en eut besoin,
Mons se rendit : vous auriez fait co

r Of THE -r^

6Ua7ERSITY

Mons was a virgin, it is said,
Kept by a king with greatest care ;
Louis the Great wished for the maid,
Mons yielded : so would you, my fair.

378 LETTERS TO

trees, laurels, and pomegranates ! They feared nothing but
too great a profusion of perfumes. Never was there so beau-
tiful or so delightful a country seen. You can conceive what
it must be from your knowledge of Italy. This is the coun-
try M. de Savoie has taken pleasure in losing and destroying.
Can we call this good policy ? We expect the little colonel
(the Marquis de Grignan), who is preparing to set out for
Piedmont ; for this expedition to Nice is only throwing the bait
in expectation of the game. He will not be here when you
pass ; but do you know who will find you here ? My son,
who is coming to spend the summer with us, and to meet his
governor, by following the footsteps of his mother.

By the by, spealdng of mother and son, do you know, my
dear cousin, that I have been for these ten days or more in a
sorrow of heart from which you alone have had the power of
relieving me, while I have been employed in writing to you.
This has been occasioned by the illness of the dowager Mad-
ame de Lavardin, my most intimate and oldest friend ; this
woman, of such excellent and sound understanding ; this illus-
trious widow, who gathered us all under her wing ; this per-
son of such exalted merit, has fallen suddenly into a sort of
apoplexy ; she is drowsy, paralytic, and feverish ; when she
is roused, she talks rationally, but she soon relapses ; in short,
my child, my friendship could not sustain a greater loss ; I
should feel it keenly. The Duchess de Chaulnes writes to me
respecting her, and is very much grieved at her illness ; Mad-
ame de la Fayette still more so. Indeed, her merit is so well
known, that every one is interested as in a public loss ; judge,
then, what her friends must feel. I am informed that M. de
Lavardin is very much affected ; I hope it is true ; it is an
honor to him to grieve for a mother to whom he is in a man-
ner indebted for whatever he is. Adieu, my dear cousin ; my
heart is full, I can write no more. If I had begun with this
melancholy subject I should not have had the courage to chat
with you as I have done,

I shall say no more respecting the Temple, I have given my

M. DE COULANGES. 379

opinion of it already ; but I shall never like or approve it.
Not so with regard to you, for I love you, and shall love and
approve you always.

LETTER VII

Grionan, July 24, 1691.

" Short reckonings make long friends :" I have received all
your letters, my dear neighbor ; that of May 20, that of June
4, about which you were uneasy, and the last of July 4 ; with
the epistle M. de Nevers sent you from Genoa, and, in short,
all the works of this duke, who is the true son of Apollo and
the Muses. You ask me if I do not treasure all his produc-
tions : indeed I do ; I have not lost a single one ; they have
highly amused us, as well as every one who has passed this
way whom we have deemed worthy of them. The last epistle is
rather above Paulina's capacity ; but we have had the pleas-
ure of finding ourselves capable of explaining to her what she
did not understand. With respect to the description of the
dinner, it is suited to the taste of the best guests ; and it made
M. de Grignan's, the Chevalier de St. Andre's, my son's, and
all our mouths water. I never saw so excellent a repast. I
have just placed it among the other wonders of this duke. To
conclude the article of letters : when you have received that
of the 25th of June, and this, you will have received all.

Let us now come to yours, the beginning of which had
nearly brought me to tears. How can I fancy you confined to
your bed, afflicted in every limb and every joint of your poor
little body ; and your nerves so affected that you can neither
stir hand nor foot ? This is enough to drive us to despair ;
but to see that all this produces a song upon your melancholy
situation, accompanied by another, the most humorous in the
world, on a thing which you see daily ; you may suppose, my
poor cousin, this is a real comfort to our hearts, as it proves
that the vital principle is not attacked. This fit of the gout

380 LETTERS TO

has only given you the blue devils, and made you look for-
ward tQ futurity under the most melancholy aspect in which it
can present itself to you ; but this situation, so violent, and so
contrary to your disposition, has not had leisure to make any
impression on you.

In spite of St. Peter, which is past, and of the predictions
of the physicians, a pope is made, and the cardinals will leave
the conclave without the event having cost them their lives ;
on the contrary, they will recover their health and their lib-
erty. It is not the first time that gentlemen of the faculty
have erred in judgment. The Duke de Chaulnes has written
us a letter by the courier, dated the 15th, which brings the
news of the exaltation : he thinks of nothing now but of com-
ing to see us ; he will be' with us a fortnight; and though the
pope* be a Neapolitan, he maintains that the affair of the bulls
is so well disposed of, that it will be the signal gun for saddling
horses and setting out for Grignan ; this hope gives us great
pleasure, and very much abridges the share I wished to take
in all your melancholy calendars ; it is at an end, however, my
dear cousin ; you are cured, you are set out, you are on the
point of arriving here. I embrace you a thousand times. Let
us talk a little of the table in the embassador's closet, of the
chaos of letters, of the deep abyss of bags, of the confusion
of papers, from which, like the infernal regions, when once a
poor letter is thrown into it, it never comes out again. It was
a miracle, indeed, that mine was found ; but it was my daugh-
ter's letter, in which I had written ; she had a great inclina-
tion to be offended at being thus lost and confounded with the
rest ; but I appeased her in the best way I could, by assuring
her that the embassador read what she wrote to him with the
deepest attention, and that it was upon my lines he had not
condescended to throw a single glance : and it is the fact ; for
he said I had not written to him. She replied, " But as it was
my letter, why consign it to this chaos ?" To this I knew not

* Cardinal Pignatelli was elected pope on the 12th of July, and took
the name of Innocent XII.

M. DE COULANGES. 381

what to answer ; the embassador will think of it, if he pleases.
It is true that my poor letters have only the value you, give to
them, by reading them as you do ; for they have their tones,
and are unbearable when they are brayed out, or spelled word
by word : be this as it may, my dear cousin, you give them a
thousand times more honor than they deserve.

LETTER Vm.

Grignan, July 26, 1691.
I am so astonished at the news of the sudden death of M.
«ie Louvois,* that I know not how or where to begin the sub-

* The death of Louvois, as it is well known, has been the subject of
many discussions. It has been said that he was poisoned. Saint Simon
affirms it ; and his account charges the king with this crime. Voltaire
eays, with reason, that this is repugnant to every idea that has been
formed of the character of Louis XIV. Of those who felt like him,
some said that it was a revenge of the Duke de Savoy's ; others, that
Louvois poisoned himself. The last opinion deserves to be inquired
into. It is agreed on all sides that he was on the eve of disgrace, that
he expected harsh treatment, that he spoke of death as preferable to
this fall, and that he was a violent and passionate man, whom no scru-
ple restrained. Under all these circumstances, there is nothing very
improbable in his suicide. But it appears that this fact was never
cleared up ; and it is an inconvenience to which we are easily resigned.
It is certain, however, that the king made no concealment that the
event of his death happened very opportunely to draw him out of diffi-
culties ; it ,is also certain that the death of this man, who had done so
much harm, was a great loss. The epitaph of Louvois, which appeared
at that time, gave a good idea of the public opinion respecting him :

Ici git, sous qui tout pliait,

Et qui de tout avait connaissance parfaite ;

Louvois que personne n'aimait,

Et que tout le monde regrette.

Here lies one to whom all yielded ;

And who knew of all the bent ;
Louvois, who sense with power wielded,

"Whom no one loved, and all lament.

382 LETTERS TO

ject to you. This great minister then, this man of conse-
quence, who held so exalted a situation, whose le moi (/), as
M. Nicole says, was so extensive ; who was the center of so
many things, is dead : how many affairs, designs, projects, se-
crets, interests to unravel, wars begun, intrigues, and noble
moves at chess, had he not to make and to conduct lm " O
God, grant me a little time ; I want to give check to the
Duke of Savoy, check-mate to the Prince of Orange." No, no,
not a moment, a single moment. Can we reason upon this
strange event ? indeed we can not ; it is in our closet we must
reflect upon it. This is the second minister* you have seen
expire since you have been at Rome : nothing is more differ-
ent than the manner of their death ; but nothing more similar
than their fortunes, and the hundred thousand chains which
attached them both to the world.

With regard to the great objects which ought to lead you to
God, you say you find your religious sentiments shaken by
what is passing at Rome and in the conclave. My poor cou-
sin, you are deceived ; I have heard that a man of very excel-
lent understanding drew quite a contrary inference from what
he saw in that great city ; he concluded that the Christian
religion must necessarily be all holy and all miraculous to
subsist thus, of itself, in the midst of so many disorders and so
much profanation. Do then as he did, draw the same infer-
ences, and believe that this very city was formerly washed
with the blood of an infinite number of martyrs ; that in the
first centuries, all the intrigues of the conclave ended in choos-
ing from among the priests him who appeared to have the
greatest zeal and strength to endure martyrdom ; that there
were thirty-seven popes who suffered, one after the other ; and
that the certainty of their fate had no influence over them to
make them fly from or refuse a situation to which death was
attached, and a death of the most horrible nature. You have
only to read this history to be convinced that a religion, sub-
sisting by a continual miracle, both in its establishment and its

* With M. de Seignelai.

M. DE C0ULAN6ES, 383

duration, can not be an invention of men. Men do not think
thus : read St. Augustin in his Verity de la Religicm (Truth
of Religion) ; read Abbadie,* very different indeed from that
great saint, but not unworthy of being compared with him
when he speaks of the Christian religion. Ask the Abbe de
Polignac what he thinks of this book. Collect all these ideas
and do not judge so hastily : believe that whatever intrigues
may take place in the conclave, it is the Holy Ghost that
always makes the pope. God works all, he is the sovereign
of all, and this is what we ought to think : I have read this
sentiment in a good book : " What evil can happen to a man
who knows that God does all things, and who loves whatever
God does ?" And with this, my dear cousin, I take my leave.

LETTER IX.

GrRlGNAN, August 14, 1691.

Come hither, that I may embrace you, caress you, and tell
you that my daughter, whose approbation you so highly value,
is delighted with your two little couplets on the holy father.
Nothing, in my opinion, could be better imagined, or better
executed : we have all been in raptures. But, my dear cousin,
the Duke de Chaulnes, in his letter of July 20, says not a word
respecting M. de Louvois ;f his death seems to me to demand
an exclamation or two. His hopes are very sanguine as to
the new pope, though not the work of his hands ; all our in-
terest is that he will give us our bulls, and that you will come
and pay us a visit ; that day seems to me to be at our finger's
end, so swiftly does time pass. You will find my son at Mar-
seilles, who will be there to meet you ; this is an attention he

* Author of a book on the Truth of the Christian Religion. He was
a Protestant.

f M. de Louvois died on the 16th July, and it is not surprising that
the news of this event should not have reached M. de Chaulnes on the
20th.

384 LETTERS TO

owes to our governor, by way of amends for not having gone
to Rome.

I long to know what you thought of the return of M. de
Pomponne to the ministry : it was to us a subject of real joy ;
M. and Madame de Grignan had no doubt of this event from
a truly prophetic spirit ; but I wished it too much even to
listen to them ; and when Madame de Vins sent the news to
my daughter, I was so surprised and so transported that I
knew not what I heard : at length I comprehended that it
was a very agreeable truth, not only to me but to the rest of
the world, for you can not form an idea how generally his re-
turn is approved. I have paid my compliments to Madame
de Chaulnes and our embassador, on the choice of M. de
Beauvilliers ; this is another strange man with whom the king
augments his council ; which is now perfect, like every thing
his majesty does. He is the cleverest man in his kingdom, he
is never idle, and provides for every thing ; nothing remains
but to pray to God that he may be preserved to us. The
dauphin enters into all the councils ; do you not also approve
this ? it is truly associating him with the empire. We have
subjects for admiration every where. If your good pope
would make peace, it would be an act worthy of himself, and
would place us in a situation to praise, with a more tranquil
mind, all the wonders we see. Adieu, my dear cousin, you
know how I am disposed toward you. M. de Barillon and
M. de Jannin are dead ; we shall die too.

LETTER X.

Paris, February 3, 1695.

Madame de Chaulnes sends me word that I am fortunate in

being here in the sunshine ; she thinks all our days are woven

with silk and gold. Alas ! my dear cousin, it is a hundred

times colder here than at Paris; we are exposed to every

M. DE COULANGES. 385

wind ; it is the south wind, the north-east wind, it is the devil ;
it is who shall insult us ; they fight among themselves which
shall have the honor of confining us to our apartments. All
our rivers are taken ; the Rhone, the furious Rhone, can not
resist them. Our writing-desks are frozen, our benumbed fin-
gers can no longer guide our pens. We breathe nothing but
snow ; our mountains are charming in their excess of horror.
I wish every day for a painter who could take a good repre-
sentation of these frightful beauties ; such is our situation.
Relate it to our good Duchess de Chaulnes, who fancies us
to be in meadows with parasols, walking under the shadow of
orange-trees. You have formed an excellent idea of the rural
magnificence of our wedding ;* every one has shared in the
praises you bestow, but we know not what you mean by the
wedding-night. Alas, how coarse you are ! I was charmed
with the manner and modesty of the evening ; I informed
Madame de Coulanges so : the bride was conducted to her
apartment; her toilet, her linen, her night-clothes, were
brought ; she took off her head-ornaments, was undressed, and
went to bed. We knew nothing of who came in or went out
of her room ; every one retired to his own apartment. We
arose the next morning without going to the bride-folks.
They also arose, dressed themselves. No foolish questions were
asked them : Are you my son-in-law ? are you my daughter-
in-law ? They are what they are. No gay breakfast was pre-
pared ; every one ate and did as he pleased ; every thing was
conducted in silence and with modesty ; there were no un-
comfortable looks, no confusion, no improper jests; this is
what I had never seen before, and what struck me as being
the most becoming and the pleasantest thing in the world.
The cold freezes me, and makes the pen fall from my hands.
Where are you ? at St. Martin's, at Meudon, or at Baville ?
What happy spot contains the youthful and amiable Cou-
langes? I have just been railing against avarice to Madame
de Coulanges. It gives me great joy, from the riches Mad-

* The marriage of the Marquis de Grignan.

17

386 LETTERS TO

ame de Meckelbourg has left, to think I shall die without any
ready money, but at the same time without debts ; this is all
I ask of God, and is enough for a Christian.

LETTER XL

G-rignan, May 28, 1695.

I have received your two letters from Chaulnes, my dear
cousin ! we found some verses in them that delighted us ; we
have sung them with extreme pleasure, and more than one
person will tell you so, for you must not be ignorant of the
good taste we preserve here for every thing you do. With
respect to the gayety and charms of your mind, you certainly
advance, and go back with respect to your register ; this is all
that can be wished, and is what naturally lays the foundation
of the desire every one has for your society. To whom are
you not welcome ? with whom do you not accommodate your-
self ? and then, which is best of all, your conduct in not ob-
truding yourself, and in allowing room to the wish of seeing
you, gives the true relish to your vanity. The proverb must
be forcible indeed, if it be true, that you are not a prophet in
your own country. I often receive news from Madame de
Coulanges ; her correspondence is very entertaining, and her
health ought no longer to create alarm, especially having the
resource which we must have, that when she is tired of medi-
cine, and undeceived with respect to it, the most salutary rem-
edy will be to take no more.

But to return to Chaulnes. I know its beauty, and can dis-
cern from hence how dull our good governor is there. It is
in vain for you to give the best reasons in the world ; he will
constantly answer, " I do not know :" and if you go on, he
will silence you by saying, " I shall die." This is what will
happen, no doubt, till he has acquired a taste for repose, and
for the charms of a quiet life. Habits are too strong, and the
agitation attached to command and to a high station has made

M. DE COULANGES. 387

too deep an impression to be easily effaced. I wrote to this
duke upon the deputation of my son, and I jested with him,
saying things I did not believe respecting his solitude at
Chaulnes ; I treated him like a true hermit, holding conversa-
tions with the beautiful fountain called the solitary. I sup-
posed his repasts suited to his situation, and that dates and
wild fruits would compose all his banquets ; I pitied his house-
steward, and in saying all these trifles, I found that I stood in
great need of you ; and that the braying* I know him to pos-
sess, would make strange work with my poor letter. You
came to my assistance, as I supposed you would ; and you are
now in another country, where you feel all the delight of pa-
ternal love ; what say you ? you could not have believed it to
be so strong if you had not experienced it ; it would have
been a great pity if all the good instructions you have given
to little children had not been followed by some child of your
imagination. The little Count de Nicei is a master-piece,f and
the singularity of being invisible makes him superior to the
rest. You make so good a use of this story that I scarcely
dare recall you ; you have immortalized it ; nothing can be
prettier than these couplets ; we sing them with pleasure. We
have had a delightful introduction of spring ; but, for two days
past, the rain, which we do not like here, has been as violent
as in Brittany and Paris, so that we have been accused of hav-
ing brought it into fashion ; it interrupts our walks, but it does
not silence our nightingales ; in short, my dear cousin, our
days pass too quickly. We dispense with great bustle, and
with the great world ; our society, however, would not dis-
please you ; and if ever a puff of wind should blow you to this
royal chateau — . But this is a chimera, we must hope to see
you again elsewhere in a more natural and probable situation ;
we have yet a summer before us for writing to each other.

* M. de Chaulnes read as ill as M. de Coulanges read well.

f The whole of this pleasantry is explained in some songs of M. de
Coulanges to Madame de Louvois, and turns upon a story which had
com© to them from Provence.

388 LETTERS TO

LETTER Xn.

Grignan, August 6, 1695.

I shall write you only a very snort and poor letter, my dear
friend, to thank you for yours, which has given us great pleas-
ure. I shall never change my opinion with respect to long
and circumstantial details, while I read yours. We are
charmed with Navarre ;* the situation, the building, like that
of Marly, which I have never seen, the excellent society — all
this convinces me that the house ought to rank with yours ;
as for Choisy, it is made on purpose for you. Your couplets
inform all who pass, of the nobility of its origin and its fate ;
but you deserve to be exalted to the skies by the couplet, in
which you humble yourself to the foot of the mount with the
coachman of Verthamont ;\ any man who will place himself
up to the ears in this mud, and will croak such pretty coup-
lets, deserves the situation M. Tambonneau gives him. The
couplet ranks with the best you have ever made ; the countess,
whose approbation you always ask, entreats you to believe it ;
it is charming, it surprises ; in short, croak on, and communi-
cate your croakings to us.

But, good God, what an effusion of blood at Namur ! how
many tears ! how many widows ! and how many afflicted
mothers ! And they are cruel enough to think this is not suf-
ficient, and they wish that Marshal de Villeroi had also beaten,
killed and massacred poor M. de Vaudemont ?J what madness !
I am uneasy respecting your nephew de Sanzei ; I pity his
mother ; it is said that she is coming nearer to wait the event
of the siege, which appears to us to be worthy of the fury of
the marshal (de Boufflers) who defends it ; no opportunity of
fighting is lost. Our Germany is very quiet ; our principal

* A chateau near Evreux, which belonged to the Duke de Bouillon,
f A famous coachman, who made all the songs of the Pont-ueuf.
% M. de Vaudemont made a noble retreat before Marshal de Villeroi^
who had lost time.

M. DE COULANGES. 389

anxiety is for her.* Adieu, my dear cousin ; did 1 not prom-
ise you that my letter would be dull ? We have sometimes
sorrows, and we know why ; I speak of them to Madame ue
Coulanges. My daughter sends you her remembrances ; you
have highly amused her by your songs and your chat, for
your letter is a true conversation. I have scattered your re-
membrances in every apartment ; they have been received, and
are returned with zeal. I embrace you, my amiable cousin,
and exhort you still to spend your time delightfully in honor
of polygamy,f which, instead of being a hanging-case to you,
constitutes all the pleasure and happiness of your life.

LETTER Xm.

Grignan, October 15, 1695.
I have just been writing to our Duke and Duchess de
Chaulnes ; but I excuse you from reading my letters ; they
are not worth reading. I defy all your emphasis, all your points
and commas to produce any good effect, therefore leave them
as they are ; besides, I have spoken of several little things to
our duchess, which are not very entertaining. The best thing
you could do for me, my good cousin, would be to send us, by
some subtle magic, all the blood, all the vigor, all the health,
and all the mirth which you have to spare, to transfuse it into
my child's frame. For these three months she has been
afflicted with a species of disorder which is said to be not
dangerous, and which I think the most distressing and the
most alarming of any. I own to you, my dear cousin, that it
destroys me, and that I have not fortitude enough to endure
all the bad nights she makes me pass ; in short, her last state
has been so violent that it was necessary to have recourse to

* On account of the Marquis de Grignan, who was in the army of
Germany.

f A jest on the subject of M. de Coulanges' second wife, Madamo
de Louvois.

390 LETTERS TO

bleeding in the arm ; strange remedy, which makes blood t>
be shed when too much has been shed already ; it is burning
the taper at both ends ; she has told me so, for, in the midst
of her weakness and change, nothing can exceed her courage
and patience. If we could regain strength, we should soon
take the road to Paris ; it is what we wish, and then we would
present the Marchioness of Grignau to you, with whom you
must already begin to be acquainted on the word of the Duke
de Chaulnes, who has very gallantly forced open her door,
and has drawn a very pleasing likeness of her. Preserve your
friendship for us, my dear cousin, however unworthy of it our
sorrow may make us ; we must love our friends with all their
faults ; it is a great one to be ill : God grant, my dear friend,
that you may escape it. I write to Madame de Coulanges in
the same plaintive tone, which will not quit me ; for how is it
possible not to be as ill in mind as this countess, whom I see
daily before my eyes, is in body ? Madame de Coulanges is
very fortunate in being out of the scrape. It seems to me as
if mothers ought not to live long enough to see their daugh-
ters in such situations ; I respectfully complain of it to Provi-
dence.

LETTER XIV.

G-RIGNAN, March, 1696.
I know not how the affairs of England go on ; the Countess
de Fiesque is the only, one who has a good opinion of them,
and is still certain that they will end well. I have taken three
meals at the Marsans', which agree very well with me ; I shall
put their whole family into my basket. M. de Marsan always
reminds his wife that she is no longer Madame de Seignelai ;
and that, being only Madame de Marsan, she must accommo-
date herself to all his friends, of whatever form or rank, and
let every one live after his own way. I am to go on Saturday
to Saint Martin's, and to-morrow I shall go to Versailles, to

M.BECOULANGES. 39 1

condole with my friend, and pass the day with Mescames de
Villeroi and Mademoiselle de Bouillon, whom I shall find there.
Madame de Guise has ordered her funeral to be conducted
without ceremony, and has preferred the burial-ground of the
Carmelites of the great convent, to all the pomp of Saint
Denis, with the kings her ancestors. She was only forty-nine
years of age. Father de la Ferte will preach again on Wed-
nesday; and on Friday, without saying a word, he will set off
for Canada. If he were not to take his departure in this way,
it would cause a tumult, he is so much liked by the populace ;
the Church of the Jesuits was too small for the multitude
which crowded to his sermons.

I have just been dining at the Hotel de Chaulnes, where I
met the Marquis de Grignan ; he can tell you that I was not
in a very ill humor. Madame (La marechale) de Villeroi yes-
terday announced to Madame de Saint-Geran the death of her
husband ; and the duke has taken upon himself the charge of
the funeral this evening. He will probably be the privileged
creditor on the inheritance, for he will advance, no doubt, what
is necessary for the ceremony. This is all I know, madam ; I,
therefore, conclude, and take leave of you till my return from
Saint Martin's, which will be when it pleases God. Madame
de Coulanges is free from the colic ; she only comjalains that
she has sometimes the little colic, which does not prevent her
from eating and drinking, and associating with the young.
She is very partial to the Chevalier de Bouillon and Count
d'Albret, and she was delighted to meet M. de Marsan again,
with whom she has renewed a snuff acquaintance. Winter is
come back within these two days : it has snowed and frozen
in such a manner, that we must expect no apricots ; I fear the
peaches also will suffer. Madame de Frontenac has a violent
cold and fever ; the fashion of dying alarms us for her. Our
poor D'Enclos has also a slow fever, which returns slightly
every evening, with a sore throat, that makes her friends un-
easy ; in short, I very much fear that the work of death is not
at an end.

392 LETTERS TO

LETTER XV *

Grignan, March 29, 1696.
When I have no other employment I weep and bewail
aloud the death of Blanchefort, that amiable, that excellent
youth, who was held up to all our young people as a model
for imitation. A reputation completely established, valor ac-
knowledged and worthy of his name, a disposition happy for
himself (for a bad disposition is a torment to its possessor), for
his friends, and for his family ; alive to the affection of his
mother and his grandmother, loving them, honoring them, ap-
preciating their merit, taking pleasure in proving to them his
gratitude, and thereby repaying them for their extreme affec-
tion ; uniting good sense with a fine person ; not vain of his
youth, as most young people are, who seem to think them-
selves paragons of perfection — and this dear boy, with all his
perfections, gone in a moment, like a blossom borne away by
the wind, without being in battle, without having an oppor-
tunity to fight, and without breathing even an unhealthy air !
Where, my dear cousin, can we find words to express our ideas
of the grief of these two mothers, and to convey to them an
adequate sense of what we feel here ? We do not think of
writing tcf them, but if at any time you should have an oppor-
tunity of mentioning my daughter, and me, and the Grignans,
make known our regret at this irreparable misfortune. Mad-
ame de Vins has lost every thing, I own ;f for when the heart
has chosen between two sons, one only is seen. I can talk of
nothing else. I bow in reverence to the holy and modest
tomb of Madame de Guise, whose renunciation of that of the
kings her ancestors, merits an eternal crown. I think M. de
Saint-Geran happy indeed, and so I think you, for having to
comfort his wife ; say to her for us every thing you think

* As the death of Madame de Sevigne happened in the beginning of
April, it is probable that this letter is the last she wrote. "We consider
its recovery as a fortunate circumstance.

f Madame de Tins had lost an only son.

M. DE COULANGES. 393

proper. And as for Madame de Miramion, that mother of the
church, she will be a public loss. Adieu, my dear cousin, I
can not change my tone. You have finished your jubilee.
The delightful trip to Saint Martin's has closely followed the
sackcloth and ashes you mentioned to me. The happiness M.
and Madame de Marsan are now enjoying well deserves that
you should sometimes see them, and put them into your bas-
ket ; and I deserve a place in that in which you put those who
love you ; but I fear that for them you have no basket,

17*

SELECTIONS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS*

A Supper. — We supped again yesterday with Madame de
Scarron and the Abbe Tetu, at Madame de Coulanges\ We
had a great deal of chat, in which you had your share. We
took it into our heads to conduct Madame de Scarron home,
at midnight to the very furthest end of the Faubourg St.
Germain, a great way beyond Madame de la Fayette's, almost
as far as Vaugirard, and quite in the country, where she lives
in a large handsome house — the entrance of which is forbidden
to every one — with a large garden, and beautiful and spacious
apartments ; she has an equipage, servants, and a genteel table :
dresses neatly, but elegantly, in the style of a woman who
associates with people of rank; she is amiable, handsome,
good, free from affectation, and, in a word, an excellent com-
panion. We returned very merrily, in the midst of a number
of flambeaux, and in full security from thieves.

* These selections from letters necessarily omitted in our plan, com-
prise nearly, if not quite all, that is of literary or moral value in the
whole series. We are thus able to give a more distinct impression of
Madame de Sevigne's character as a mother and a Christian. Besides
the many amusing anecdotes here collected, her sentiments on im-
portant duties of life are of much value ; and her religious feelings are
deserving distinct recognition. It will be seen that she studied her
Bible, and strove to follow its divine teachings ; like Fenelon, though
nominally a Romanist, or rather Jansenist, she had in her heart and
mind protested against the corruptions of that Church. Her clear
insight, just principles, and heart-piety are remarkably displayed in
these extracts.

SELECTIONS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS. 395

Port Royal. — That Port Royal is a perfect Thebais, a very
paradise; a desert where all that is left of true Christian
devotion is retired. The whole country for a league round
breathes the air of virtue and holiness. The nuns are angels
upon earth. Mademoiselle -de Vertus is wearing out the re-
mains of a miserable life there, in the most excruciating pain,
but with inconceivable resignation. The very meanest of the
inhabitants have a virtuous serenity in their countenances, and
a modesty of deportment to be met with in no other place. I
own to you I was delighted to see this divine solitude of which
I have heard so much ; it is a frightful valley, calculated to
inspire a taste for religion.

Hints about Children. — A word about the little Marquis
(de Grignan) ;* I beseech you not to be under any apprehen-
sion about his timidity. Remember that the charming Mar-
quis (de la Chatre) used to tremble and quake till he was
twelve years old, and that La Troche, when young, was so
terrified at the least thing, that his mother could not bear to
have him in her sight ; and yet you see how much they have
distinguished themselves since : let that comfort you. Fears
of this kind are the mere effect of childhood, and when child-
hood is surmounted, instead of being afraid of raw-head and
bloody bones, these personages are afraid only of being thought
fearful, are afraid of being less esteemed than others, and that
is sufficient to make them brave, and kill their thousands and
ten thousands : let me then again beg you to make yourself
easy on that score. As to his shape, it is another matter : I
would advise you to put him into breeches, and then you will
see better how his legs go on, and whether they are straight-
ened as he grows. You must let him have room to stir him-
self, and unfold his little limbs: but you must put. on him a
pretty tight vest, which will confine his shape. I shall receive
some further instructions, however, on this subject, which I
will not fail to transmit to you. It would be a fine thing in-

* Grandson of Madame de Sevigne.

396 SELECTIONS PROM

deed to see a Grignan with a bad shape ! Do you not remem-
ber how pretty he was in his swaddling-clothes ? I am no
less uneasy than yourself at this alteration.

^Reflections. — What you say of death taking the liberty of
interrupting fortune is admirable ; this ought to comfort those
who are not in the number of her favorites, and to diminish
the bitterness of death. You ask me if I am religious : alas !
my dear, I am not sufficiently so, for which I am very sorry ;
but yet I think I am somewhat detached from what is called
the world. Age and sickness give us leisure enough for serious
reflection ; but what I retrench from the rest of the world I
bestow upon you, so that I make but small advances in the
path of detachment ; and you know that the law of the game
is to begin by effacing a little what is dearest to our heart.

Versailles in 1676. — I was on Saturday at Versailles with
the Villars. You know the ceremony of attending on the
queen at her toilet, at mass, and at dinner ; but there is now
no necessity of being stifled with the heat, and with the crowd,
while their majesties dine : for at three, the king and queen,
monsieur, madame, mademoiselle, the princes and princesses,
Madame de Montespan, and her train, the courtiers, and the
ladies, in short the whole court of France, retire to that fine
apartment of the king's which you know. It is furnished with
the utmost magnificence ; they know not there what it is to
be incommoded with heat ; and pass from one room to another
without being crowded. A game at reversis gives a form to
the assembly, and fixes every thing. The king and Madame
de Montespan keep a bank together. Monsieur, the queen,
and Madame de Soubize, Dangeau, and Langle, with their
companies, are at different tables. The baize is covered with
a thousand louis-d'ors ; they use no other counters. I saw
Dangeau play, and could not help observing how awkward
others appeared in comparison of him. He thinks of nothing
but his game, though he scarcely seems to attend to it ; he

VARIOUS LETTERS. 397

gains where others lose; takes every advantage; nothing
escapes or distracts him ; in short, his good conduct defies
fortune. Thus, two hundred thousand francs in ten days, a
hundred thousand crowns in a month, are added to his
account-book under the head received. He had the com-
plaisance to say I was a partner with him in the bank, by
which means I was seated very commodious! y. I bowed to
the king in the way you taught me ; and he returned my
salutation, as if I had been young and handsome. The queen
talked to me of my illness, nor did she leave you unmentioned.
The duke paid me a thousand of those unmeaning compli-
ments which he bestows so liberally. M. de Lorges attacked
me in the name of the Chevalier de Grignan ; and, in short,
tutti quanti (all the rest). You know what it is to receive a
word from every one who passes you. Madame de Montes-
pan talked to me of Bourbon, and desired me to tell her how
I liked Vichi, and whether I had found any benefit there.
She said that Bourbon, instead of removing the pain from her
knee, had given her the tooth-ache. Her beauty and her
shape are really surprising ; she is much thinner than she
was ; and yet neither her eyes, her lips, nor her complexion
are injured. She was dressed in French point ; her hair in a
thousand curls, and the two from her temples very low upon
her cheeks ; she wore on her head black ribbons, intermixed
with the pearls which once belonged to the Marechale de
l'Hopital, diamond pendants of great value, and three or four
bodkins. In a word, she appeared a triumphant beauty, cal-
culated to raise the admiration of all the foreign embassadors.
She has heard that complaints were made of her having pre-
vented all France from seeing the king ; she has restored him,
as you see, and you can not imagine the delight this has
occasioned, nor the splendor it has given to the court. This
agreeable confusion, without confusion, of all the most select
persons in the kingdom, lasts from three o'clock till six. If
any couriers arrive, the king retires to read his letters, and
returns to the assembly. There is always music, to which he

398 SELECTIONS FROM

sometimes listens, and which has an admirable effect : in the
mean time, he chats with the ladies who are accustomed to
have that honor. They leave off their game at the hour I
mentioned, without the trouble of reckoning, because they use
no marks or counters. The pools are of five, six, or seven
hundred, and sometimes of a thousand or twelve hundred
louis-d'ors.

At six they take the air in caleshes ; the king and Madame
de Montespan, the prince and Madame de Thianges, and
Mademoiselle d'Heudicourt, upon the little seat before, which
seems to her a seat in paradise. You know how these caleshes
are made ; they do not sit face to face in them, but all look
the same way. The queen was in another with the princesses :
the whole court followed in different equipages, according to
their different fancies. They went afterward in gondolas
upon the canal, where there was music : at ten the comedy
began, and at twelve they concluded the day with the Spanish
entertainment of media noche ; thus we passed the Saturday.

The Telescope. — Apropos, did I mention to you an ex-
cellent telescope that amused us exceedingly in the boat ? It
is really a master-piece of its kind ; it is a still better one than
that which the abbe left with you at Grignan. This glass
brings objects quite home that are at three leagues' distance ;
alas ! that it would bring those which are two hundred ! You
may easily guess the use we made of it on the banks of the
Loire, but I have found a new method of using it, which is
this: you know that one end brings objects nearer to you,
and the other throws them to a great distance ; now this end
I turn toward Mademoiselle du Plessis, and in a moment I
see her three leagues from me. I tried this experiment the
other day on her, and the rest of my neighbors ; this was
amusing, but nobody knew what I meant by it ; if there had
been any one to whom I could have given the hint, the plea-
sure would have been greater. When tired with disagreeable
company, it is only to send for the glass, and look through it

VARIOUS LETTERS. 399

at the end that distances the objects. Ask Montgobert, if she
would not have laughed heartily. This is a pretty subject to
talk nonsense upon. If you have Corbinelli with you, let me
recommend the use of the glass to you.

Adieu, my dear ; we are not mountains, as you say, so I
hope to embrace you a little nearer than two hundred leagues :
but you are going still further off; I have a great mind to set
out for Brest. It is very hard, in my opinion, that the grand-
duchess should not have the good Rarai as her lady of honor ;
the Guisardes have appointed La Sainte-Meme to the office.
I hear that La Trousse's good fortune is doubled, and that he
will have De Froulai's situation.

Rules of Living. — I am never in bed more than seven
hours, and I eat sparingly : I add to your precepts walking a
great deal, but the worst is, that I can not prevent somber
thoughts from intruding into my long gloomy avenues. Sad-
ness is poison to us, and the source of the vapors. You are
right in thinking this disorder is imaginary ; you have ad-
mirably defined it ; it is sorrow that gives birth to, and fear
that nourishes it.

Work. — I was employed yesterday on a piece of work as
tedious as the company I had : I never work but when I have
company ; when I am alone, I walk, I read, or write. La
Plessis incommodes me no more than Maria ; I am so happy
as to have no inclination to listen to any thing she says, and
find as little interruption from her presence, as you do from
some whom you have the same kind of regard for. In other
respects she has the best sentiments in the world ; I admire
how all her good qualities are spoiled by her impertinent and
ridiculous manners. It is quite laughable to hear what she
says of my patience in bearing with her ; how she explains it ;
and the obligations she fancies it lays her under to attach her-
self to me ; and how I serve her for an excuse for not visiting
her friends at Vitre. It would make you smile, to observe

400 SELECTIONS FROM

her little arts to satisfy her vanity (for vanity is the growth of
every soil) ; and her affected fears that I am growing jealous
of a nun of Vitre, for whom she has a partiality. All this
would make an excellent farce.

Evening Employments. — I was perfectly rejoiced to return
here ; I am making a new walk, which employs me wholly.
I pay my workmen in corn ; and find nothing so profitable as
to amuse one's self, and forget, if possible, the evils of life.
Neither do my evenings, my child, about which you are so
much in pain, hang more heavily on my hands : I am almost
always writing, or reading, and midnight overtakes me before
I know where I am. Our abbe (her uncle) takes his leave of
me at ten, and the two hours that I am alone, are no more
irksome to me than the rest. In the day I am either em-
ployed with the abbe, or among my dear laborers, or in my
favorite work. In short, my dear, life flies away so swiftly,
and we are always drawing so near our end, that I can not
conceive how people can make themselves so unhappy about
worldly affairs. I have here sufficient time for reflection, and
it is my fault, and not that of the place, if I do not indulge
it. I am quite well ; all my people obey you admirably :
they are ridiculously careful of me ; they come to guard me
home in the evening armed cap-a-pie, and it is against a
squirrel they draw their swords.

An Impromptu Marriage. — M. de Chaulnes concluded a
marriage the other day, which gave me pleasure, between the
little Du Guesclin, and a very pretty girl with a large fortune ;
when he had with great difficulty settled the articles, he said,
" Let us draw up the contract ;" the parties consented, and he
immediately resumed, saying, " What prevents their being
married to-morrow ?" Every one exclaimed, " There must be
wedding-clothes, a toilet, and linen." — He laughed at this.
M. de Rennes gave a dispensation of two banns, and the next
day being Sunday, one was published in the morning, and

VARIOUS LETTERS. 401

they were married at noon ; after dinner the little bride danced
like an angel ; she had learned at Paris of the duchess' mas-
ter, and had caught her air ; the next day she was Madame
du Guesclin, and had saved 20,000 livres that would other-
wise have been spent in the wedding. It is consistent with
good sense to rise superior sometimes to trifles and customs.

A Bride. — Madame de Coulanges informs me that the new
Madame de la Fayette was reclined upon a magnificent bed in
a noble house ; the room hung with beautiful tapestry belong-
ing to the Keeper of the Seals ; the bed decorated with an an-
cient mantle of the order, and the room hung with fine tapes-
try, having the arms ornamented with the staves of the
Marshal of France, and the collar of the order ; looking-glasses,
chandeliers, glass plates, and crystals, according to the present
fashion, out of number ; a great many servants, and valets-
de-chambre in livery ; the bride in an elegant dress. In short,
such taste reigns in the house of the new-married couple and
in their family, that our Madame de la Fayette ought to be
perfectly satisfied at her son's having formed so great and
honorable an alliance.

Bleeding. — You tell me you have found it necessary to be
bled ; the trembling hand of your young surgeon makes me
tremble. The prince said one day to a new surgeon, " Does
not the idea of bleeding me make you tremble V — " Faith sir,"
replied the man, " your highness has most reason to tremble."
He was in the right.

Company. — I have for a long time adopted your opinion,
that bad company is preferable to good : how dismal it is to
part with the good ! and what a pleasure it is to get rid of
the bad ! Do you remember how we were tormented at
Fouesnel, and how overjoyed we were when the company
thought proper to take their leave ? I think we may then
establish it as a maxim, that nothing is more desirable than

402 SELECTIONS FROM

bad company, and nothing more to be dreaded than good.
Let whoever is puzzled with this enigma call upon us for the
solution of it.

Quarrels in High Life. — I think I mentioned to you the
quarrel between the Duke de Ventadour and the Duke
d'Aumont ; the latter was returning from Bourbon with his
wife, and the Duchess de Ventadour and the Chevalier de
Tilladet. The Duke de Ventadour was at an estate he has in
the same county, called La Motte. He had desired his wife
to come to him there, and sent, at the same time, to invite the
whole company, but was refused ; he then came himself, but
was ill received, because, following the company about from
dinner-time till bed-time, his conversation was mixed continu-
ally with menaces and reproaches ; in short, he was like Don
Quixotte, pistol in hand, threatening and challenging the gen-
tlemen. The chevalier treated him as a person fit only for
Bedlam. At length the ladies arrived in great fear at Paris,
where the king, being informed of what had happened, sent a
guard to take care of Madame Ventadour, so that she is now
under the protection of his majesty. What think you the
monster did ? he went to the king, attended by his neighbors,
that is, the Princes de Conde, de Conti, Messieurs de Luxem-
bourg, Duras, Schomberg, Bellefond ; and, with incredible as-
surance, told the king that the Chevalier de Tilladet had not
paid him the respect due to his rank ; mark the expression :
he places the dukedom where it was formerly. " Sire," said
he, " I want to know why I am refused the company of my
wife ! what has happened to my person of late ? Am I uglier,
or more ill made than formerly, when I was as much courted
as I am now avoided ? If I am ugly, sire, is ifc my fault ?
Had I been my own maker, I would have been like your maj-
esty ; but these are things that are not in our own disposal."
In short, partly owing to this natural and proper, and at the
same time unexpected, flattery, and partly to the justice of his
argument, the king was pleased with him, as well as the whole

VARIOUS LETTERS. 403

court However, they are to be separated ; the difficulty is,
that he insists that his wife shall be shut up in a convent,
which is a sad affair. M. de la Rochefoucault is employed to
accommodate this business, and settle matters between the
gentlemen.

Extravagance of M. de Sevigne. — I have been ready to
weep to see the desolation of this estate ; there were the finest
trees in the world upon it, and my son, in his last journey,
gave the finishing stroke to the last. He would even have
sold a little copse, which was the greatest ornament of the
place. Is not this lamentable ? He scraped together four
hundred pistoles by this plunder, of which he had not a single
penny left in a month. It is impossible to think with pa-
tience how he acts, and what his Brittany journey cost him,
notwithstanding he discharged his coachman and footman at
Paris, and took nobody but Larmechin with him. He has
found out the art of spending an immense deal of money,
without making any show for it, of losing without playing, and
of paying without discharging his debts. War or peace, he is
forever crying out for money ; in short, he is a perpetual
drain, and what he does with his money I can not conceive, for
he appears to have no particular passion. I really think his
hand is a crucible, which melts money the instant it is put
into it. *********

My son writes me word that he is going to play at reversis
with his young master :* this makes my blood run cold within
me ; two, three, or four hundred pistoles are lost before we
can look around us. " This is nothing for Admetus, but 2
great deal for him." If people, before they play, would think
that they may possibly lose a great deal, and that debts of honor
must be paid immediately, they would not be so ready to en-
gage in such parties ; but the misfortune is, that every one
thinks he shall v, in, and this leads him on to destruction. If

* The Dauphin.

404 SELECTIONS FROM

Dangeau is one of the party, he will carry off every thing ; for
he is a perfect harpy at play. However, it will all turn out as
it shall please God, and so it will be with the 6,000 francs
which I expected to receive from Nantes, and which a demon
has interfered in the shape of a point of law, that throws us as
far back as ever.

Gaming. — They play extravagantly high at Versailles : the
koca* is forbidden at Paris under pain of death, and yet it is
played at court : five or six thousand pistoles of a morning is
nothing to lose. This is no better than picking of pockets.
I beseech you to banish this game from among you.

TV •!* »|* ^» *J» t* t*

The other day the queen missed going to mass, and lost
twenty thousand crowns in one morning. The king said to
her, " Let us calculate, madam, how much this is a year."
And M. de Montausier asked her the next day, if she intended
staying away from mass for the hoca again ; upon which she
was in a great passion. I have heard these stories from per-
sons who have come from Versailles, and who collect them for
nie# *******

But now about this Ireland* what a folly is it to lose so
much money at such a rascally game ! It has been banished
from us for a downright cut-throat. We do things in a more
serious manner. You play against all chance : you lose for-
ever : take my advice, and do not continue it : consider it is
throwing money away without having any amusement for it :
on the contrary, you have paid 5,000 or 6,000 francs to be the
mere dupe of fortune. But I am rather too warm, my dear,

and must say with Tartufle, " 'tis through excess of zeal."
* * * * * * *

I will tell you, my dear child, a thought that has occurred
to me on the frequent losses you and M. de Griguan sustain at
cards. I would have you both be cautious. It is not pleas

* A game at cards.

VARIOUS LETTERS. 405

ant to be made a dupe of ; and be assured that it is i/ )t nat-
ural to be perpetually the winner or the loser. It is not long
since I was led into the tricks of the Hotel de la Vieuville.
You remember, I suppose, how our pockets were picked there.
You are not to imagine every body plays as fairly as you do
yourself. The concern I have for your interest makes me say so
much ; and as it comes from a heart entirely devoted to you,
I am persuaded you will not be displeased at it.

Providence. — You say you never mention Providence but
when you have a disorder on your lungs, whereas that subject
always exhausts mine, for I can find none that furnishes so
large a field for discussion, observation and inquiry ; and why
may we not discourse as well on this as on natural philosophy 1
Why did you not still say, as you did last year, that our fears,
our reasonings, our decisions, our wills, our desires, are only
so many means employed by God for the execution of his
purposes ? Is not this an inexhaustible subject, fraught with
the most entertaining variety ? *****

Believe me there is no experiment in natural philosophy more
interesting than the investigation of the connection and divers-
ity of our several sentiments ; so that you see, It is God's
will may be paraphrased in a thousand different ways.

Free Will. — I have no other answer to make you upon
what St. Augustin says, except that I hear and understand
him, when he tells me, and repeats to me five hundred times
in the same book, that all things depend, as the apostle says,
" not on him that willeth, nor on him that runneth, but on
God, that showeth mercy to whom it pleaseth him ; that it is
not for any merit in man, that God bestows his grace, but
according to his own good pleasure ; that man may not glory
in his own strength, seeing he receives all things from God."
His whole book is in this strain, filled with passages from
Scripture, the writings of the Apostle Paul, and the Homilies
of the Church. He calls our free will, a deliverance, and an

406 SELECTIONS FROM

aptitude to love God, because we are no longer under the
dominion of the devil, and are chosen from all eternity, accord-
ing to the decrees of the Almighty before all ages. "Wren I
read in this book the following passage, "How could God
call men to judgment, if they were not free agents ?" I con-
fess I am at a loss to understand it, and am disposed to think
it a mystery : but as free will can not put our salvation in our
own power, and as we must always be dependent on God, I
have no desire to understand it better, and will endeavor, as
much as possible, to remain in a state of humility and depend-
ence.

Devices. — As to devices, my dear child, my poor brain is
in a very bad condition for thinking of any, much less for
inventing them ; however, as there are twelve hours in the
day, and above fifty in the night, my memory has furnished
me with a rocket raised to a great height in the air, with these
words ; Che peri, pur che sHnnalzi* I am afraid I have seen
this somewhere in the late tournaments, though I can not
exactly say where or when ; for I think it too pretty to be
my own. I remember also having seen in some book, a
rocket on the subject of a lover who had been bold enough to
declare himself to his mistress, with these words, Da Vardore
Vardire,\ which is pretty but does not apply in this instance.
I am not quite sure whether the first I have mentioned is in
strict conformity to the rules of devices : for I do not perfectly
understand them ; all I know is, that it pleased me, and
whether it was in a tournament, or on a seal, is a matter of
no great importance; it is scarcely possible to invent new
ones for every occasion. You have heard me a thousand
times repeat that part of a line in Tasso, Ealte non temo :\ I
used to repeat this so often, that the Count de Chapelles had
a seal engraved, with an eagle flying toward the sun, and

* Let it perish, so it be exalted,
f My boldness arises from my ardor.
% I rise without fear.

VARIOUS LETTERS. 407

Halte non temo for the motto : a very happy device. * *
* * M. de Montmoron came hither post : among other
things we were talking about devices : he assures me he does
not remember to have seen any where the one I proposed : he
knew the one with these words, Da Vardore Vardire, but that
is not the thing : the other, he says, is much more complete,
Che peri, pur che s'innalzi. And whether it is my own, or
borrowed, he thinks it excellent. *****
I have seen a device which suits me exactly ; it is a leafless
tree, apparently dead, with this inscription round it, Fin che
sol ritorni* What think you of it, my child ?

The Use of Reason. — I am still alone, my dear child,
without being dull : my health is good ; I have plenty of
books, work, and fine weather ; these, with a little reason, go
a great way.

Pecuniary Embarrassments. — You ask, why am I not
with you ? Alas ! I could easily answer you, if I were
inclined to debase my letter with a detail of the reasons that
obliged me to quit you, of the misery of this country, the
sums that are owing me here, the delays in the payment of
them, what I owe elsewhere, and- the ruin my affairs must
have sustained had I not taken this resolution in time. You
well know that I put it off for two years with pleasure ; but
there are extremes, my dear child, in which we should destoy
every thing in attempting to wrestle with necessity ; the prop-
erty I possess is no longer my own ; I must preserve the
same honor and the same probity I have all my life professed.
This, this, my child is the cruel cause that tears me from you ;
and is this a subject to entertain you with ?

An Obstinate Son. — In regard to my son, I find I have
courage enough to tell him my sentiments without disguise.
I wrote him a letter which I think unanswerable ; but the

* Till the sun returns.

408 SELECTIONS FROM

more I enforce my reasons, the more he urges Lis arguments,
and he appears so determined, that I now perfectly understand
what is meant by an unconquerable wish. There is a degree
of ardor in the desire which animates him, that no prudence
can withstand. I can not accuse myself of having preferred
my own interest to his. I wish for nothing but to see him
walk in the path I have traced out for him. He is wrong in
all his arguments, and far beside the mark ; I have endeav-
ored to set him right by incontestable arguments, corrobor-
ated by the opinion of all our friends ; and ask him if he has
not some doubts, seeing he is alone in an opinion which every
one else disapproves ? He answers me always by an obstinate
perseverance ; so that I am reduced to the last expedient,
that of keeping him from making a rash or injurious bar-
gain.

A Forgiving Mother. — As I was returning from my walk
yesterday, I met the poor f rater* at the end of the mall, who
immediately fell upon his knees, so conscious of having done
wrong in having been three weeks under ground, singing
matins, that he thought he dared not approach me otherwise.
I had resolved to scold him heartily, but I was so glad to see
him, that I could not find an angry word to use. You know
how entertaining he is ; he embraced me a thousand times,
and gave me the worst reasons in the world ; which, however,
I received as sterling ; we chat, we read, we walk, and we
wear away the year ; or rather, what is left of it.

Love — its symptoms. — You want to know the symptoms
of this love, of which I spoke to you the other day. Imprimis,
To be the first on all occasions to deny it : to affect an air of
great indifference, which is a sure mark of the contrary : the
opinion of those who can judge from being near : the public
voice : an entire suspension of all motion in the globular
machine : a neglect of ordinary concerns to attend to a single

* Her son.

VARIOUS LETTERS. 409

one : a continual satirizing old people who are so foolish as to
be in love. " Such nonsense ! they must be idiots ! fools !
And with a young woman too ! Very pretty indeed ! it
would become me mighty well ! I had rather break both my
arms and legs." And then we make answer internally : u In-
deed what you say is very true ; but, for all that you are in
love : you tell us all these fine things : your reflections are
doubtless very just, very true, very tormenting ; but for all
that you are in love ; reason is on your side, but love is
stronger than reason ; at the same time you are sick, you
weep, you are out of humor, and you are in love.*

Chess. — You tell me of chess what I have often thought
before. In my opinion, there could not have been contrived
a better expedient to humble pride than this game, which at
once sets before our view the narrowness and insignificance of
the human mind. I think it would be of real utility to any
one fond of such reflections. But then, on the other hand,
the foresight, the penetration, the address in defending our-
selves, as in attacking our adversary, the success attending the
right management of the game, is so pleasing, and affords so
much inward satisfaction, that it may at the same time nourish
our pride and swell our self-sufficiency. I am still far from
being cured of this passion, and therefore want to be further
convinced of my own weakness.

Alone. — I am delighted to be alone ; I walk out, I amuse
myself with reading and work, and I go to church ; in short
I ask pardon of the company I expect, but I own I do won-
drous well without them.

A Courtier. — The other day the dauphin was shooting at a
mark, and shot very wide of it : M. de Montausier rallied hinc
upon it ; and told the Marquis de Crequi, who is very skillful
to fire, saying to the dauphin, " See how well he will hit tho
mark. The arch youth had the complaisance to shoot a foo*

16

410 SELECTIONS FROM

further from it than the dauphin, which turned the laugh en
M. de Montausier : " Ah ! little wretch," said he, " you deserve
to be hanged."

The Kino. — The king, in reality, is well served : neither
life nor fortune is considered when his pleasure is the question.
If we were as well disposed toward God, we should be saints
indeed.

Christian Humility. — I know very well that Jesus Christ,
St. Paul, and St. Augustine, preached and exhorted, it was
their business ; this latter gives good reason for doing so.
But a poor sinner, recovered only three days from a worse
state than ours, should keep silence, penetrated with the mercy
of God toward him, occupied only with his happiness, and the
true gratitude he owes to his Saviour, for having selected and
distinguished him from so many others, without any merit,
through free grace : such should be the sentiments of his
heart, and if charity should make him interest himself for his
neighbor, it should display itself in lamentations before God,
and in supplicating the same grace for others that has so plen-
tifully been poured upon him. Such was that penitent and
holy princess, Madame de Longueville ; she did not forget her
situation nor the abyss from which God had saved her ; she
preserved the remembrance as a foundation for her penitence
and her lively acknowledgment to the Almighty. Thus is
Christian humility preserved and the grace of Jesus Christ
honored. This does not preclude reflection and Christian con-
versation with our friends ; but no sermons, no scolding ; these
revolt, and make us recollect and refer persons to their past
life, because we find they have forgotten it. I am astonished
that people of good sense should fall into this injustice ; but we
ought to be astonished at nothing ; for what do we not meet
with in our journey through life ?

VARIOUS LETTERS. 411

Home Life. — We lead so regular a life that it is scarcely
possible to be ill. We rise at eight, and I often walk till nine,
when the bell rings for mass, to breathe the fresh air in the
woods ; after mass we dress, bid each other good-day, return
and gather orange-flowers, dine, and work or read till five.
Since my son's absence, I read to save his little wife's lungs ; I
leave her at five, and return to those delightful groves, with a
servant who follows me : I take books with me, change my
route, and vary my walks ; from a book of devotion I turn to
one of history, this creates a little change ; I think of God,
and his over-ruling providence possesses my soul, and reflect on
futurity ; at length, about eight o'clock I hear a bell. This is
the summous to supper. I prefer this life infinitely to that of
Kennes ; is it not a fit solitude for a person who should think
of her salvation, and who either is or would be a Christian ?
In short, my dearest child, there is nothing but you that I
prefer to the tranquil repose I enjoy here ; for I own with
pleasure, that I would willingly pass some more time with
you if it pleased God.

Liberty at Home. — What do you say my child ? would
you not suffer me to have two or three hours to myself, after
having been at mass, to dinner, and till five o'clock working,
or talking with my daughter-in-law ? she would, I believe, be
as much vexed at this as myself : she is a good little woman,
and we agree wonderfully well together ; but we have a great
taste for the liberty of parting and meeting again afterward.
When I am with you, my child, I own I never leave you but
with regret and consideration for you ; with every other per-
son, it is from consideration for myself. Nothing can be more
just or more natural : it is impossible to feel for two persons
what I feel for you ; leave us, therefore, a little to our sacred
freedom ; it agrees with me, and by the help of books the time
passes in this waj as quickly as it does at your brilliant
castle.

412 SELECTIONS FROM

Readings. — Our readings are delightful. We have Ab-
badie* and the History of the Church ; this is marrying the
lute to the voice. You are not fond of wagers ; I know not
how we could captivate you a whole winter here. You skim
lightly, and are not fond of history ; and we have no pleasure
but when we are attached to our subject and make it a busi-
ness. Sometimes, by way of change, we read Les petites Lettres
of Pascal ; good heavens ! how delightful they are, and how
well my son reads them ! I constantly think of my daughter,
and how worthy of her this extreme propriety of reasoning
would be : but your brother says you find that it is always
the same thing : ah ! so much the better ; can there be a
more perfect style, more finely wrought, more delicate un-
affected raillery, or more nearly allied to the dialogues of
Plato, which are so very beautiful ! And when, after the first
ten letters, he addresses himself to the R. P.s, what serious-
ness ! what solidity ! what force ! what eloquence ! what a
way of supporting it and of making it understood ! All this
is to be found in the last eight letters, which are very different
from the former. I am persuaded you never did more than
glance over them, selecting the most beautiful passages ; but
they should be read leisurely. * * * *

You ask me what books we are reading. When we have
company reading is laid aside ; but before the meeting of the
states, we read some little books that scarcely took us up a
moment : — Mohammed II., who took Constantinople from the
last emperor of the East ; this is a great event, so singular,
brilliant, and extraordinary, that we are carried away with it ;
and it happened but two hundred and thirty-six years ago : —
the Conspiracy of Portugal, which is very fine : the Variations
of M. de Maux : a volume of the History of the Church, the
second is too full of the detail of the councils, and therefore
might be tedious : Les Iconoclastes and the Arianism of Mairn-
bourg ; this author is detestable, his style disagreeable ; he is
always desirous of being satirical, and compares Alius, a
* Author of La Verite de la Religion Chretienne.

VARIOUS LETTERS. 413

princess and a courtier, to M. Arnauld, Madame de Longue-
ville, and Treville ; but setting aside these fooleries, the his-
torical passages are so very fine, the Council of Nice so admir-
able, that it is read with pleasure ; and as he brings us down
to Theodosius, we shall find consolation for all our evils in
the elegant style of M. de Flechier.*

Arianism. — I am at present reading, the history of Arian-
ism ; I neither like the authorf nor his style : but the history
itself is admirable ; it is indeed that of the whole world : it
has a share in every thing, and seems to have springs that move
all the powers of the earth. The genius of Arius was aston-
ishing ; as it likewise is, to see how his heresy spread itself
over the world ; almost all the bishops join in the error ; St.
Athanasius alone stands forth to defend the divinity of Jesus.
These great events are truly worthy of admiration. When I
wish to feast my understanding and my soul, I retire into my
closet ; I listen to our fathers, and their glorious morality,
which makes us so well acquainted with our own hearts.

I am employed in reading my Arianism : it is a strange
history, in which nothing displeases me but the author and
the style ; but I have a pencil, and am revenged on him, by
marking some passages which I think highly diverting from
the earnest desire he shows of drawing parallels between the
Arians and the Jansenists, and the perplexity he is under to
reconcile the conduct of the Church in the first ages of Chris-
tianity with that of the Church at present. Instead of pass-
ing slightly over them, he says, that the Church for good rea-
sons does not act now as it did then.

Adoration. — I find communion is frequent in Provence ; to
my shame be it spoken, I neglected the immaculate concep-

e Esprit Flechier, Bishop of Mmes, author of the Life of Theodosius.
f Louis Maimbourg.

414 SELECTIONS FROM

tion of the Mother, to reserve myself wholly for the nativity
of the Son ; for this we can not be too well prepared.

Jealousy. — You are doubtless convinced that my senti-
ments and yours are the same ; but I want to teach you
jealousy, at least in theory, and assure you, credi a me pur che
Vho provato* that we often say things we do not think ; and
even if we did think them, would that be a sign of not lev-
ing ? Quite the contrary ; for if we were to analyze these
speeches, so full of anger and resentment, we should find a
great deal of affection and attachment at the bottom. Some
hearts are remarkably delicate ; when these happen to meet
with a cool or indifferent disposition, a very considerable
progress is made in the region of jealousy. This I have
thought myself obliged in conscience to say to you ; make
your own reflections upon it, for I can not pretend to enter
into particulars at the distance of two hundred leagues.

Folly. — A young man came to visit me the other day, who
is the son of a gentleman of Anjou, with whom I was form-
erly intimately acquainted. At his entrance I beheld a fine,
graceful, handsome figure, which struck me with pleasure ;
but, alas ! as soon as he opened his mouth, he laughed at every
word he spoke, which made me almost ready to cry. He has
a smattering of Paris and the opera ; he sings ; is familiar and
airy ; and repeats with great gravity, " Quand on n'a point ce
qu'on aime, qu'importe, qu'importe, a quel prix ?f instead of to
obtain what we love, which you know are the words of the
opera. I recommend this charming alteration to M. de Grig-
nan, to set it to music.

The Lot of Mankind. — I wish to write in my prayer-book
what M. de Comines says of the cross purposes of human life.
It is pleasant to see that, even in his time, tribulation and

* Believe me for I have proved it.

f To obtain what we do not love, what price is too great?

VARIOUS LETTERS. 415

misery were the lot of mankind. His style gives peculiar
grace to the solidity of his argument. For my part, I am de-
termined to be more than ever convinced of the impossibility
of being happy in this world, since God keeps loyally to what
he has promised.*

Expenses, Retrenchments, etc. — I readily conceive that
you are fearful of looking into the expense you have incurred :
it is a machine that must not be touched, lest it fall and crush
you with its weight. There is something of enchantment in
the magnificence of your castle, and the elegance of your table.
The dilapidation must be ruinous, and I can not conceive what
you mean by saying that it is not considerable. It is a kind
of black art, like that among courtiers, who, though they have
not a penny in their pockets, undertake the most expensive
journeys both by land and water, follow every fashion, are at
every ball, masquerade, and ring, in every lottery, and still go
the same round, though overwhelmed in debts. I forgot tc
mention gaming, which is another curious article. Then
estates dwindle away ; but no matter, they still go on. Jus
so it is with you.

*******
I fancy that by this -time you are somewhat cured of your
Grignan economy, where you were to live for little or nothing ;
for it was nothing, it seems, nothing at all, to have four or five
tables, to keep open house, and furnish entertainment for man
and horse ; a thing that no one in the world now thinks of
doing: in short, say what you please, that famous caravansera
of yours appears to me to teem with ruin ; this concourse of
people seems to me like the flood which carries all before it.
In short, my child, I dare not think of this vortex ; Paris will
prove your resting-place : stay here at least till you have con-
fronted your expenses, and can look your return ir the face.

****** *

* This is the passage from Comines.

"No creature is exempt from suffering. All eat their bread in pain."

416 SELECTIONS FROM

There are many things yet to settle, which concern you *s
much as myself, and I might as well not have made this jour-
ney at all, as to make it too short ; so that I must resolve to
drain the bitter cup to the bottom. Besides, as I observed to
you in a former letter, the money I save by being here, serves
to pay off a part of my debts elsewhere ; without this expe-
dient, what could I have done ? You well know what I mean ;
it has cost me many an uneasy moment : and, indeed, what
could you yourself have done, but for the assistance you re-
ceived ? At present, I fancy, you have made matters up tol-
erably well.

Baptism. — What you said the other day, as to humor and
memory, was perfectly just ; they are certainly things which
are not sufficiently known. I also intend to convict you of
heresy, my child ; and, be as angry as you please, I insist, that
the death of Jesus Christ is not alone sufficient, without bap-
tism : he requires the water, the spirit, and the blood, and it
is on these conditions alone that his death can be of service
to us. No part of the old man can enter into heaven, but by
regeneration through Jesus Christ. If you ask me my rea-
sons, I shall reply with St. Augustine, that I can give none,
any more than I can tell why, having come into the world to
save all men, he saves so very few ; or why he concealed him-
self during his life-time, and would not let any one know or
follow him. I can give no reason for all these things ; but of
this I am certain, that since he thought fit they should be so,
they must be right and proper, seeing that his will is truth
and justice.

Order. — If Providence delights in order, and order is no
other than the will of God, there must be many things con-
trary to his will. The persecutions against St. Athanasius, and
other orthodox divines, and the calm prosperity of tyrants, are
all contrary to order, and consequently to the will of God

VARIOUS LETTERS. 417

therefore, with leave of Father Malebranche,* would it not be as
well to confine ourselves to what St. Augustine says, that God
permits all things that come to pass, that he may derive glory
from them to himself, by ways unknown to man ? St. Augus-
tine acknowledges no rule or order but the will of God, and if
we do not follow his doctrine, we shall have the mortification
of finding, that, as scarcely any thing in this world is agreea-
ble to order, every thing must pass contrary to his will who
made all things ; which, in my mind, is a shocking supposi-
tion.

Mary Blanche^ — You give me an excellent idea of your
eldest daughter ; I see her before me ; pray embrace her for
me ; I rejoice that she is happy. For your son, you may love
him as much as you please ; he deserves it ; every one speaks
highly of him, and praises him in a way that would give you
pleasure ; we expect him this week. I have felt all the force
of the phrase he made use of to gain esteem, " which must
come, or tell the reason why :" it brought tears into my eyes
at the moment ; but esteem is come already, and will not have
to say why it staid away. The reputation of this child is al-
ready commenced, and will now only increase.

The young Marquis de Grignan.J — Your son was last
night at the Duke de Chartres' ball ; he was very handsome,
and will inform you of his success. You must not, however,
calculate upon his studying much ; he owned to us yesterday,
very sincerely, that he is at present incapable of paying proper
attention ; his youth hurries him away, and he does not un-
derstand what he reads. We grieve that he has not, at least,
a taste for reading, and that he wants inclination more than

* Father Malebranche says, that " all that is done in nature is done
from the nature of order."

f Mary Blanche, eldest daughter of Madame de Grignan. She waa
a nun at St. Mary at Aix.

% Grandson of Madame the Sevigne.

418 SELECTIONS FEOM

time. His frankness prevented our scolding him ; I know not
what we did not say to him ; I mean the chevalier, myself
and Corbinelli, who was rather warm upon the occasion.
But we must not fatigue or force him ; this taste will come in
time, my dear ; for it is not possible, that, with so much spirit,
good sense, and love for his profession, he should have no
desire to be made acquainted with the exploits of the heroes
of antiquity, and particularly Ccesar at the head of his Com-
mentaries. Have patience, and do not fret : he would be too
perfect were he fond of reading. * * * * *
I am also of opinion, that by reading we learn to write ;
I know some officers of rank, whose style is vulgar ; it is,
however, a delightful thing to be able to communicate our
thoughts ; but it also often happens that these people write
as they think, and as they speak ; every thing is in unison.

Paulina.* — I am pleased with Coulanges' praise of Paulina ;
it is well applied, and makes me understand what sort of
charms she possesses, curbed however by persons who have
not given her the best nosef in the world. If the count had

* Paulina de Grignan, born in 1674, and married in 1695, to the
Marquis de Simiane, was noticed at five or six years of age, for the
agreeableness of her wit, as well as the beauty of her person. Her let-
ters were already looked upon as performances in which the pleasing
and the natural were equally combined. She had scarcely entered her
fourth year, when she would occasionally utter repartees full of wit and
pleasantry. She was not more than thirteen when she wrote, at Mad-
ame de G-rignan's request, a small piece of devotion which the bright-
est genius might have been proud of. It is easy to guess how a per-
son thus favored by nature must turn out, educated under the eyes of
a mother and grandmother whose good sense seemed as it were trans-
fused into her. She excelled not only in the epistolary style, but also
in the poetic, though she never wrote but for amusement. The solid
principles of true religion, in which she was brought up, shone forth in
her, amid the bustle of courts and secular affairs ; a ad never with so
much splendor as in the last year of her life, which she employed whol«
ly in the exercise of the most sublime virtues of Christianity.

f Paulina's nose resembled her grandmother's.

VARIOUS LETTERS. 419

given her his fine eyes and fine person, and left the rest to yon,
Paulina would have set the world on fire ; she would have
been irresistible ; this pretty mixture is a thousand times bet-
ter, and must certainly form a very pretty personage. Her
sprightliness resembles yours ; your wit always bore away
the palm, as you say of hers ; I like this panegyric. She will
soon learn Italian, with the assistance of a better mistress than
you had. You deserve as excellent a daughter as mine has
been. I told you that you might do what you wished with
yours, from her disposition to please you ; she appears to me
worthy of your love. *******

Paulina then is not perfect ; I could never have supposed
that her chief imperfection would have been ignorance of re-
ligion. You must instruct her in this, which you are very
capable of doing ; it is your duty, and you have good books
to assist you : in return, your sister-in-law, the abbess, will
teach her the world. *****

You astonish me by what you say of Paulina ; pray, pray,
my dear child, keep her with you ; think not that a convent
can repair the errors of education, whether as to religion, with
which the sisterhood are very little acquainted, or as to any
thing else. You will do much better at Grignan, when you
have time for application. You will make her read good
authors ; you will converse with her, and M. de la Garde will
assist you : I am convinced that this is preferable to a convent.

Faith in Christ. — So then, you read St. Paul and St. Au-
gustine ; two excellent laborers to establish the absolute will
of God. They never scruple to assert, that God disposes of
his creatures as the potter does of his clay ; some he chooses,
some he rejects. They are no loss to apologize for his justice,
since there is no other justice but his will. It is justice itself,
it is the rule of right ; and, after all, what does he owe to man ?
Is he in any way dependent on him ? Not at all. He, there-
fore, does them justice in rejecting them, on account of the
stain of original sin, which is communicated to all ; and he

420 SELECTIONS FROM

selects a few, whom he saves by his son Jesus Christ, who
himself says, " I know my sheep, and am known of mine : I
will lead them forth to the pasture, and not one shall be lost."
" I have chosen you," saith he in another place to his apostles,
" and you have not chosen me." There are numberless pass-
ages of this nature ; I meet with them continually, and un-
derstand them all ; and when I find others that seem to con-
tradict them, I say to myself, This is to be understood figura-
tively, as when we read that " God was in wrath," that " God
repented him," and the like : and I always abide by that first
and great truth, which represents God to me as he is, the
sovereign master, the supreme creator and author of the uni-
verse ; in a word, as a being infinitely perfect, agreeably to
Descartes' idea. Such are my humble and reverential thoughts,
from which, however, I deduce no ridiculous consequences,
nor do they deprive me of the hope of being of the number
of the elect of God, after the mercies he has bestowed on me,
which are so many foundations upon which to ground my
confidence.

The Fire-eater. — Yesterday a young man came here from
Vitre, whom I knew to have lived formerly as footman with
M. Coulanges. M. de Grignan has seen him at Aix. He
showed me a printed list of the feats he performed with fire ;
he has the secret of the man you have heard spoken of at
Paris. Among a thousand wonderful things that he did, and
which I am astonished the government permits, on account
of the consequences, I was struck with one in particular, which
is soon done ; this was the letting fall from his hand into his
mouth ten or twelve drops of flaming sealing-wax, with which
he appeared to be no more affected than if it had been so
much cold water ; he did not make the least grimace, or sign
of uneasiness, and his tongue looked as fair and unhurt after
the operation as before. I have often heard of these fire-eat-
ers ; but I must confess, that to see the thing performed in my
own room, and under my v^ry eye, struck me with astonishment

VARIOUS LETTERS. 421

Books. — We pass our time here very quietly ; this you can
not doubt ; but very swiftly, which will surprise you : work,
walking, conversation, reading, all these are called in to our
assistance. Speaking of books, you tell me wonders of M.
Nicole's last production ; I have read some passages that ap-
peared to me very fine ; the author's style enlightens, as you
say, and makes us enter into ourselves, in such a way as dis-
covers the beauty of his mind and the goodness of his heart ;
for he never scolds out of season, which is the worst thing in
the world, and never produces the desired effect. I did not
purchase the book at the time, which was in Lent : I contented
myself with the good Le Tourneux.* We are reading a
treatise of the pious man of Port-Royal upon continual prayer,
which is a sequel to certain pious works that are very fine ;
but this, which is much larger, is so spiritual, so luminous, and
so holy, that though it be a thousand degrees above our under-
standings, it does not fail to please and charm us. We are
delighted to find that there have been, and still are, people in
the world, to whom God has communicated his Holy Spirit
and grace in such abundance ; but, good heavens ! when shall
we be possessed of one little spark, of one single degree ? How
sad it is to find ourselves so far behind here, and so near in
other things ! fie, He, let us not name this misfortune ! wo
ought to humble ourselves at it a hundred times a day.

Liberty of Mind. — There are certain periods of life in
which we attend to nothing but ourselves. You indeed have
never been much occupied in that way ; but when we came
down this river together, we were more engaged in disputing
about the Count des Chapelles than in admiring the beauties
of the rural scenes that surrounded us. Now, the case is
exactly the reverse : we observe a profound silence, are per-
fectly at our ease, reading, musing, admiring, out of the way

* Nicholas de Tourneux, confessor of Port-Royal, so well-known by
his excellent work, entitled " The Christian Year," and by a great num
ber oi other important works.

422 SELECTIONS FROM

of all sorts of news, and living upon our own reflections. The
good abbe (her uncle), is always praying : I listen attentively to
his pious ejaculations ; but when he has got to his beads I beg
to be excused, finding that I can meditate much better without
them. In short, we manage to pass twelve or fourteen hours
without being very unhappy ; such a fine thing is liberty.

The Nuns of Saint-Marie. — My greatest satisfaction is m
visiting the nuns of Saint-Marie; they are truly amiable
women ; they still retain the remembrance of you, of which
they do not fail to make a merit with me : they are neither
silly nor conceited, like some you know ; they do not believe
the present Pope* to be a heretic ; they understand the religion
they profess, and will never reject the Holy Scriptures because
they have been translated by worthy men ; they pay all due
honor to the saving grace of Christ ; they acknowledge the
power of providence ; they educate the young girls committed
to their care very properly, and neither teach them to lie nor
to dissemble ; no chimeras, no idolatry is to be found among
them. In short, I have a great regard for them. M. de Grig-
nan would think them Jansenists ; for my part, I think them
Christians : there are two of them who have an infinite deal of
wit. I shall go to their house to-morrow to write, and I shall
dine with them on Saturday : they are all the comfort I have
here.

Moral Essays. — Do you not intend to read the Moral
Essays, and to give me your opinion of them ? For my part,
I am charmed with them ; and so I am with the funeral
oration on M. de Turenne; there are passages in it which
must have affected all that were present. I do not doubt but
it has been sent you ; tell me if you do not think it very fine.
Do you not intend to finish Josephus ? We read a great deal
of serious as well as lighter subjects ; fable and history. We

* Innocent XL, who passed for favoring the Jansenists, merely be-
cause he took no steps against them.

VARIOUS LETTERS. 423

are so deeply engaged with these, that we have scarcely leisure
for any other employments. They pity us at Paris; they
think us confined to a fire-side by the inclemency of the season,
and languishing under a dearth of amusement ; but, my dear,
I walk ; I find a thousand diversions ; the woods are neither
wild nor inhospitable.' It is not for passing my time here
instead of at Paris that I am to be pitied.

History of the Bible. — I am, moreover, reading the em-
blems of the Holy Scriptures,* which begin from Adam. I
have begun with the creation of the world, which you are so
fond of, and shall end with the death of our Saviour, which
you know is an admirable series. We find in it every circum-
stance, though related concisely ; the style is fine ; it is done
by an eminent hand : the history is interspersed throughout
with excellent reflections, taken from the fathers, and is very
entertaining. For my own part, I go much further than the
Jesuits ; and when I see the reproaches of ingratitude, and
the dreadful punishments with which God afflicted his people,
I can not help concluding, that we, who are freed from the yoke
to which they were subjected, are, in consequence, highly
culpable, and justly deserve those scourges of fire and water
which the Almighty employs when he thinks fit. The Jesuits
do not say enough on this subject, and others give cause to
murmur against the justice of the Deity, in weakening the
supports of our spiritual liberty, as they do. You see what
fruit I derive from my reading. I fancy my confessor will
enjoin me to read the philosophy of Descartes.

Affection. — I fancy myself qualified to write a treatise on
affection ; there are a thousand things depending on it, a
thousand things to be shunned, in order to prevent those we

* History of the Old and New Testament, by M. de Saci, Sieur de
Royaumont. He composed this book in the Bastile. It is, they say,
filled -with allusions to the vicissitudes of Jansenism in that age, M.
de Saci was president of the nuns at Port-Royal.

424 SELECTIONS FROM

•

love from smarting for it : there are innumerable instances
where we give them pain, and in which we might alleviate'
their feelings, were we to reflect and to turn things in all the
points of view we ought, out of regard to the object of our
love. In short, I could make it appeal' in my book, that there
are a thousand different ways of proving our regard without
talking of it ; as well as of saying by actions that we have no
real regard, even while the treacherous tongue is making pro-
testations to the contrary. I mean no one in particular, but
what I have written, I have written.

Submission. — I beg you will read the second part of the
second treatise in the first volume of Moral Essays ; I am
sure you know it, but you may not perhaps have observed it
particularly ; it is on the subject of submission to the will of
God. You will there see how clearly it is demonstrated that
Providence governs all things ; that is my creed, by that I
abide : and though a contrary doctrine may be advanced else-
where, to keep fair with all sides, I shall consider such con
duct only in the light of a political stratagem, and follow the
example of those who believe as I do, though they may
change their note.

Philosophy. — You say that I make God the author of
every thing that happens ; read, read, I say, that part of the
treatise I have pointed out to you, and you will find that we
are to look to Him for every thing, but with reverence and
humility, and consider man only as the executor of his orders,
from whose agency he can draw what effects he thinks proper.
It is thus we reason, when our eyes are lifted up to heaven ,
but, in general, we are apt to confine our views to the pool
contemptible second causes that strike our bodily senses, and
bear with impatience what we ought to receive with submis-
sion ; and such, alas ! is my present wretched situation. ]
join with you in believing that philosophy is good for little,
except to those who do not stand in need of it. You desira

VARIOUS LETTERS. 425

me to love you more and more : indeed, you embarrass me ;
I know not where to find that degree of comparison ; it is be-
yond my conception : but this I am certain of, that I never
can, in thought, word, or deed, evince the thousandth part of
the affection I bear you ; and this is that sometimes distracts
me.

Old Age. — So then you were struck with an expression of
Madame de la Fayette's ("you are old,") blended with so
much friendship. Though I say to myself that this is a truth
which should not be forgotten, I confess I was all astonish-
ment at it ; for I yet feel no sort of decay that puts me in
mind of it. I can not, however refrain from calculating and
reflecting, and I find that the conditions of life are very hard.
It seems to me that I have been dragged against my will to
the fatal period, when old age must be endured ; I see it, I
have attained it ; and I would, at least, contrive not to go
beyond it, not to advance in the road of infirmities, pain, loss
of memory, disfigurements which are ready to lay hold of me ;
and I hear a voice which says, You must go on in spite of
yourself; or, if you will not, you must die, an alternative at
which nature recoils. Such, however, is the fate of those who
have reached a certain period. *****

I contemplate this evil, which has not yet proved itself so,
with heroic courage; I prepare myself for its consequences
with peace and tranquillity ; and seeing there is no way of
escape, and that I am not the strongest, I think of the obliga-
tion I owe to God, for conducting me so gently to the grave.
I thank him for the desire he daily gives me to prepare for
death, and the wish of not draining my life to the dregs.
Extreme old age is frightful and humiliating : the good Cor-
binelli and I see a painful instance of this truth hourly, in the
poor Abbe de Coulanges, whose helplessness and infirmities
make us wish never to reach this period

426 SELECTIONS FROM

Sermons. — When I am as good as M. de la Garde, if ever
God grants me this grace, I shall like all sermons ; in the
mean while I content myself with the Gospels as explained by
M. le Tourneux ; these are real sermons, and nothing but the
vanity of man could load modern discourses with their present
contents. We sometimes read the Homilies of St. John
Chiysostom ; these are divine, and please us so highly, that I
persist in not going to Rennes till passion week, to avoid being
exposed to the eloquence of the preachers who hold forth in
behalf of the parliament. ******

The Marshal de Grammont was so transported the other day,
at a sermon of Bourdaloue's, that he cried out, in the middle

of a passage that struck him, " By , he is right." Madamo

burst out a laughing, and the sermon was interrupted so long
that nobody knew what would be the consequence. If your
preachers are as you represent them, I am apt to think they
will be in no great danger of their being interrupted by such
praises.

Josephus. — I am glad you like Josephus, Herod, and Aris-
tobulus. I beg you to go on, and see the end of the siege of
Jerusalem, and the fate of Josaphat. Take courage ; every
thing is beautiful in this historian, every thing is grand, every
thing is magnificent, every thing is worthy of you ; let not an
idle fancy prevail with you to lay him aside. I am in the
History of France ; that of the Crusades has occasioned my
looking into it, but it is not to be compared to a single leaf
of Josephus. Alas ! with what pleasure we weep over the
misfortunes of Aristobulus and Mariamne :

Hope ever. — We should never despair of our good fortune.
I thought my son's situation quite hopeless, after so many
storms and shipwrecks, without employments, and out of the
way of fortune ; and while I was indulging these melancholy
reflections, Providence destined, or had destined, us to so
advantageous a marriage, that I could not have wished for a

VARIOUS LETTERS. 427

better alliance, even at the time when my son had the great-
est reason to expect it. It is thus we grope in the dark, not
knowing our way, taking good for evil, and evil for good, in
entire ignorance.

Twilight. — I hate twilight when I have nobody to chat
with ; and I had rather be alone in the woods, than alone in
a room. This is like plunging up to the neck in water to save
one's self from the rain : but any thing rather than an arm-
chair.

A Presentiment. — Good Heavens! my dear child, what
fools your women are, both living and dead ! your top-knots*
shock me ! What a profanation ! it smells of paganism ; foh !
It would make me shudder at the thoughts of dying in Pro-
vence; I would, at least, be assured that the milliner and
undertaker were not sent for at the same time. Fie, fie,
indeed ! but no more of this.f

* It was the custom in Provence to bury the dead with their faces
uncovered ; and the women who wore ribbons as a head-dress, retained
them in their coffins.

f This passage might deserve the name of presentiment. All she
feared came to pass. She died in Provence, and the very head-dress
which was so repugnant to her mind, adorned her in her coffin.

LETTERS ON THE- DEATH OP MADAME DE

SEVIGNE.

LETTER L

STROM THE COUNTESS DE GRIGNAN TO THE PRESIDENT

DE MOULCEAU.

Paris, April 18, 1696.
Your politeness, sir, need not lead you to fear the renewal
of my grief,* in speaking to me of the afflicting loss I have
sustained. This is an object which my mind bears constantly
in view, and which is so deeply engraven in my heart that
nothing has power to increase or diminish it. I am convinced,
sir, that you could not have heard the dreadful misfortune
which has happened to me without shedding tears ; I can an-
swer for your heart : you lose a friend of incomparable merit
and fidelity ; nothing is more worthy of your regret ; and
what, sir, do not I lose ? what perfections were not united in her
to me, by different characters, most dear and most precious ?
A loss so complete and so irreparable, leads me to seek for
consolation only in the bitterness of tears and groans. I have
not strength to raise my eyes to the place whence comfort
flows ; I can yet only cast them around me, and I no longer
see the dear being who has loaded me with blessings, whose
attention from day to day has been occupied in adding fresh
proofs of her love to the charms of her society. It is too
true, sir, that it requires more than human fortitude to bear sc

* Madame de Sevigne, as it appears, died early in April

DEATH OF MADAME DE S^VIGNl 429

cruel a disunion and so much privation. I was far from being
prepared for it : the perfect health I saw her enjoy, and a
year's illness, which a hundred times endangered my own life,
had taken from me the idea that the order of nature could be
fulfilled by her dying first. I flattered myself that I should
never have this great evil to endure : it is come upon me, and
I feel it in all its severity. I deserve your pity, sir ; and some
share in the honor of your friendship, if sincere esteem and
high veneration for your virtue can deserve it. My sentiments
have been the same toward you since I had the pleasure of
knowing you ; and I believe I have more than once told you
that it is impossible for any one to respect you more than I do.

LETTER IL

FROM M. DE OOULANGES TO MADAME DE SIMIANE.*

Paris, May 25, 1696.
Far from taking it unkindly, madam, that you did not
write to me with your own hand, I am very much surprised
that you even thought of me at a time so cruel and so fatal as
the present. I did not doubt your sensibility at the loss we
have sustained ; and I could easily conceive what it would cost
your excellent heart. God of heaven, what a blow is this to
us all ! For myself, I am lost in the thought that I shall no
longer see the dear cousin to whom I have been from infancy
so affectionately attached, and who returned this attachment
so tenderly and so faithfully. If you could see, madam, all
that passes here, you would be still better acquainted with the
merit of your grandmother, for never was worth more truly
acknowledged than hers ; and the public renders her, with
pious regret, all the honor which is due to her. Madame de
Coulanges is grieved to an excess that it is impossible to de-

° The dear Pauline, the favorite grand-daughter of Madame de Se*
vigne\ Seepage 418.

430 LETTERS ON THE DEATH

scribe, and I tremble for its effect upon her own health. From
the day that announced to us the fatal illness, which in the
end took our friend from us forever, we have lost all peace of
mind. The Duchess de Chaulnes is almost dead, and poor
Madame de la Troche — .* In short, we meet together to
weep, and to regret what we have lost ; and in the midst of
our grief, we are not without anxiety for the health of your
mother. Do not write to me ; order one of your meanest
attendants to inform us how you are : I entreat you to believe
that your mother's health and your own are very precious to
me, for more reasons than one ; for I think I owe it to the
memory of Madame de Sevigne, to be more attached to you
and Madame de Grignan than before, from knowing so well
the sentiments she entertained for her and for you. I shall
not write to your mother for a long time, for fear of increasing
her grief by my letters ; but omit me not, whenever an oppor-
tunity offers ; make mention of my name ; be assured that of
all your servants, relations, friends, no one is more deeply
afflicted than I am, no one feels a greater interest in all that
concerns you. I shall not show your letter immediately to
Madame de Coulanges ; but I shall not fail to tell her that you
do not forget her. I can assure you that you owe her this jus-
tice on account of her love for you. Allow me to pay my
sad compliments to M. de Simiane, the Chevalier de Grig-
nan, and M. de la Garde. Heavens, what a scene in this
royal chateau ! Poor Mademoiselle de Marsillac too, who has
so well discharged all the duties of friendship, how I feel for
her!

LETTER m.

FROM MADAME DE COULANGES TO MADAME DE SIMIANE.

Paris, May 2, 1696.
I am truly obliged to you, madame, for still thinking of
me. I knew all your excellences ; but the affection of your
* This phrase is incomplete.

OF MADAME Dl oV/IGHl 431

heart, and the regard you have felt for a person so worthy of
being beloved as she whom you regret, appear to me to be
above all praise. Ah ! madara, how much reason have you
to believe me to be deeply affected ! I can think of no other
subject ; I can talk of nothing else. I am ignorant of the
particulars of this fatal illness, and the eagerness with which
I seek for them shows that I have little power over myself*
I spent the whole of yesterday with the prior of St. Catha-
rine's. You may guess upon what our conversation turned.
I showed him the letter you have done me the honor to write
to me. It gave him real pleasure, for persons of his turn ot
mind are so convinced that this life ought only to serve as a
passport to the other, that the dispositions in which we leave
the world are to them the only ones that are worthy of at-
tention. But we think of what we have lost, and we lament
it. For myself, I have no female friend left. My turn will
soon come ; it is reasonable to expect it ; but to hear a per-
son of your age entertain such serious and melancholy
thoughts is rare indeed. Your understanding, madam,
makes me forget your youth ; and this, added to the natural
partiality I feel for you, seems to authorize me to address you
as I do.

LETTER IV.

FROM THE COUNT DE GRIGNAN TO M. DE COULANGES.

Grignan, May 23, 1696.

You, sir, can understand better than any one the magni-
tude of the loss we have sustained, and my just grief. Mad-
ame de Sevigne's distinguished merit was perfectly known
to you. It is not merely a mother-in-law that I regret ; this
name does not always command esteem ; it is an amiable and
excellent friend, and a delightful companion. But it is a cir-
cumstance more worthy of our admiration than our regret,

432 DEATH OF MADAME DE SEVIGNE.

that this noble-minded woman contemplated the approach of
death, which she expected from the moment of her attack,
with astonishing firmness and submission. She, who was so
tender and so timid respecting those she loved, displayed the
utmost fortitude and piety when she believed that she ought
to think only of herself ; and we can not but remark how
useful and important it is to fill the mind with good things
and sacred subjects, for which Madame de Sevigne appears
to have had a peculiar taste, not to say a surprising avidity,
by the use she made of these excellent provisions in the last
moments of her life. I relate these particulars to you, sir,
because they accord with your sentiments, and will be gratify-
ing to the friendship you have borne for her whom we la-
ment ; and at the same time my mind is so full of them that
it is a relief to me to find a man so well disposed as you
are to listen to the recital, and take pleasure in hearing it. I
hope, sir, that the memory of a friend who highly esteemed
you will contribute to preserve to me the regard with which
you have long honored me. I prize it too highly, and wish
it too much, not to deserve it a little.

INDEX.

Adhemar, Count (see note) 30

Adoration 413

Affection 423

Alone , 409

Apparition, An 362

Arianism 413

Baptism 416

Bellefond, Marshal . 15, 152

Blanchfort 392

Bleeding, An anecdote 401

Books 421

Bouillon, Duchess de 189, 191

Bourdaloiie 91, 111

Broncas 43

Bride. A , 401

Brinon, Madame de 260, 270

Brinvilliers, Madame de 154, 155

Brittany, Disturbances in 124, 238

Bussy, Count de (see note) 19, 350

Bussy, Count de, Letters to 19-28

Calprenedre, La. 62

Chantal, Baroness de 15

Charles II. of England 245, 246

Chaulnes, Madame de 66

Chatelet, Magdalen de (see note) 56

Chaulnes, Madame de 66

Chaulnes, Duke de 386

Chess 409

Children, Hints about 395

Christian Humility • 410

19

£34 INDEX.

PAGB

Colbert 118

Company. 401

Conde, Prince de 87

Conti, Prince de. 353, 356, 361

Corbinelli 181, 217, 355

Coulanges, M. de, Letters to 368-393

Coulanges, M. de, Letters from 425

Coulanges, Madame de 187, 212, 223, 426

Court News 38

Courtier, A 409

Dauphiness 208, 216

Death 79

Death of Madame de Sevigne 428

Departure of Madame de Sevigne 28

Descartes (termed Father in the Letters) 238

Devices, Several 406

Dreux, Madame de 214

Dubois 220

Dullness 134

Elopement 331

Esther, Tragedy of. 283

Evening employments 400

Expenses 415

Faith in Christ. 419

Payette, Madame de La 211, 212, 294

Feuillade, M. de 129

Pire-eater, The 420

Flechier, (see note) 217

Folly 414

Forgiving Mother, A 408

Fortune, Calculation of her , 51

Fouquet, M 205, 208, 297-329

Fouquet, Madame de 300, 303

Free will.. 405

Gaming 404

General Preface 7

Genevieve 121

Grammont, Countess de , . 182

INDEX. 435

PAGB

G-rammont, Marshal do .... 91, 422

Grignan, Count de 26, 27

Grignan, Count de, Letter from 427

Grignan, Count de. Letters to 338-346

Grignan, Madame or Countess, Letters to 28-296

Grignan, Countess de, Letters from 424

Grignan, Mademoiselle 357

Grignan, the young Marquis 417

Granville, M 17

Guiche, Count de 91, 92

Harcourt, Countess de 63

History of the Bible 423

Home Life • 411

Hope ever 426

Jealousy • 414

Jews, their religion 147

Joli, Claude 29

Josephus 426

King, The (see note 197) 410

King of England 265, 269, 271, 280, 282

King of France, Anecdote of 308

King of France, Generosity of — 364

La Marans 76, 89, 107

La Trousse 129

Launoi, Mademoiselle de 112

Laizun, Duke de, Marriage of. 369

Lavardin, M. de 228, 234, 378

La Voisin, The prisoner 184,190, 200

Liberty at Home 411

Liberty of Mind 421

Living, Rules of 399

Longueville, Madame de 89, 210, 211

Lot of Mankind, The 414

Louvois, M. de 381, 383

Love, its symptoms 408

Luxembourg, M. de 185, 188, 192, 216

fcfainbourg, Father (see note) • » 143

436 INDEX.

Maine, Duke of. 102

Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Marriage of 368-373

Maintenon, Madame (see note) 181, 182, 223

Marriage, The impromptu 400

Mary Blanche 41 7

Mary Stuart (see note) 253

Maxims 57, 67

Meri, Chevalier de 181

Montespan, Madame de 118, 119, 160, 396, 397

Montmort, Abbe 40

Moonlight Walk 230

Moral Essays . . 422

Moulceau, President de, Letters to 347-367

Namur 388

Nicole 61,70, 72

Ninon de l'Enclos 16, 39

Noailles, Duke de (see note) 348

Nuns of St. Marie 422

Obstinate Son 407

Old age 425

Order 56, 416

Order de la St Esprit 255

Pain 81

Paulina 162, 164, 279, 289, 291, 418

Pecuniary embarrassments 407

Philipsburg 252

Philosophy 424

Plessis, Mademoiselle du 49, 51, 60, 225

Polignac, Madame de. . . . » 363

Pomponne, M. de, his dismissal 177, 187, 193

Pomponne, M. de, Letters to 297-329

Port Royal 395

Potable Gold (see note) 167

Preface, General 7

Presentiment 427

Providence 405

Puissort (see note) 302

Quarrels in High Life 402

INDEX. 437

PAOl

Queen of England 267,271, 273

Queen of France, Illness of. 312

Queen of Spain poisoned (see note) 277

Rabutin-Chantal, Marie de 15

Racine 75, 80

Readings 412

Reason, Use of 405

Reflections 396

Regrets s. 32

Reproaches 161

Retz, Cardinal de 114, 117, 120

Rheims, Archbishop of. Ill

Rheumatism 151

Richelieu, Cardinal (see note) 229

Robbery (see note) 109

Rochefoucault, M. de la 42, 82, 202, 204

Rocks, The (Madame de Sevigne's estate).. 48

Roquette, Gabriel de (see note) 210

Saint Simon, Duke of 109

Scarron, Madame de 74, 394

Schomberg, Count de 253

Schomberg, Madame de (see note). • 102

Selections from various letters 394

Sermons 426

Sevigne, Madame de, and her time 13

Sevigne, Marguerite de (see note) 28

Sevigne, Marquis de 172,183, 198

Sevigne, Marquis de, Letters to 330-337

Sevigne, Madame de, Death of. 428

Sevigne, Marquis de, Extravagance of ... . 403

Sobieski, John (see note) 95

Soissons, Countess de 186, 190

St. Augustine..." 157, 414

St. Cyr 275

Submission 424

Supper at Madame Coulanges 394

Telescope, The • • • • 398

Termes, M. de 168> 169

Thiange3, Madame de - 100

Thianges, Mademoiselle de 341

438 INDEX.

PAGB

Transparencies 159

Trappe, La 37

Turenne, Marshall de (see note) 64, 126-135

Twilight 427

Valliere, Duchess de la. . 33, 104, 114

Vardes, M. de 54, 351

Vatel 44, 45

Vendome, Chevalier .* 93, 94

Yentadour, M. de 38

Versailles in 1676 396

Yillars, Abbe (see note) 68

Yilleroi, Marshal de 189

Vivonne,M.de 93,94, 110

Whims ' 123

"Words, The use of. 139

Work 399

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